


Cold Fire Rising 2: Ouroboros (What Happened After)

by BrightLotusMoon



Series: Cold Fire Rising [2]
Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2012), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Psychics/Psionics, Angst and Feels, Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Astral Projection, Autistic Character, Break the Cutie, Cat/Human Hybrids, Chronic Pain, Coma, Comatose Mikey, Depression, Disability, Disabled Character, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Repressed, Emotions, Epilepsy, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/M, Family, Family Fluff, Fear, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Friendship/Love, Headaches & Migraines, Heavy Angst, Mental Breakdown, Mikey Is A Woobie, Neurodivergent Mikey, Neurodiversity, Neurology & Neuroscience, Original Character(s), Pain, Pansexual Character, Polyamorous Character, Psychic Abilities, Psychic Bond, Psychic Mikey, Psychic Violence, Psychological Trauma, Psychology, Romance, Seizures, Sex, Spirit World, Supernatural Crossover, Telekinesis, Telepathic Bond, Telepathic Sex, Telepathy, depressed mikey, mikey has sex, sad mikey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2016-07-12
Packaged: 2018-07-15 03:00:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 51,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7203764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrightLotusMoon/pseuds/BrightLotusMoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michelangelo's psionic powers are tested on the streets, at home, and in personal ways as he learns to work with his family and his world. Each chapter will be a different story.</p><p>An OC will be introduced. This will lead to a romance for Mike.<br/>Chapter 16 has explicit sexual content.<br/>Chapter 18 is a Supernatural crossover.</p><p> </p><p>The technical sequel to "Cold Fire Rising": A series of random scenes, ficlets, short shorts, bigger stories, and one-shots about neurodivergent Michelangelo and family dealing with Mikey's psionics on a day to day basis.<br/>Some stories will feature an OC friend for Michelangelo (a psychic disabled college student whose cat got caught up in her mutation) who will show up as the stories intersect and interconnect with a timeline.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Might As Well

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter is short and sweet and simple, and just drives home some of the little changes Michelangelo and his family have been facing since they returned to Earth with a psionic, disabled Mikey.

 

* * *

He sat there in the light darkness, absently rubbing the massive scar on his left thigh, letting his thoughts wander. He had excused himself after eating a whole pepperoni pizza by himself and passed on the king fu movie marathon. Nobody seemed too surprised. Then again, too many things had changed. He couldn't...well, he never could sit still, but this was more. This was...his brain was...everything was everywhere. It made him mentally tired.

He considered pulling out his sketchbook and testing out that new technique, but his brain muscle hadn't quite gotten the hang of drawing without his physical hand to guide it. The first attempts had been sloppy. His family would have insisted they were beautiful, but his trained eye knew they were essentially a child's screw-up.

His random attention span jumped between everything in his room, from shelf to shelf, desk to bed, scattered pizza boxes on the floor. Without thinking, he let his body slide bonelessly to the floor and flop to the first abandoned pizza box He would need a trash bag. He reached under the bed, where a roll of them lounged dustily, and pulled one out.

Ten minutes later, pizza boxes were in the garbage bag and he was already hunting down dust and dirt; the broom from the closet was dancing on its own, sweeping and twirling and kissing the dust pan which dumped into a second trash bag without a spill. _Concentrate, focus, stay with it,_ he thought. Ooh, was that a stack of comic books? His brain gave him a light smack. The broom and dust pan were still, waiting.

"Sheeez, I'm not the sorcerer's apprentice," he muttered out loud. "Give a guy a break."

An hour later, his bedroom was clean, his belongings stacked and organized. His head hurt a little. His body felt…a little numb. And kind of burning? Maybe?

Someone knocked on his door, silent. Waiting. His head really started hurting. He sighed. "Yeah, Don. Come on in."

The door opened. "Mikey, aren't you going to…wow, what happened in here? It even smells better!"

From the floor, Mike held up a bottle. "Air freshener, dude."

Don looked around, nodding. "What made you decide to clean up?"

He shrugged. "Something. I dunno. My brain."

Frowning, Donatello sat on his bed. "Do you…wanna talk about it?"

He shrugged again. But his muscles were aching, and his head was burning, and fuck this his lower lip was trembling. He got to his feet shakily and realized there was no point in hiding it.

"Oh, Mikey…" And Donnie held out his arms. "Come on, talk to me."

And Mikey fell onto his bed, fell into his brainy brother's arms, and for two hours, he talked and talked and Donnie listened, Donnie the ever-patient and kind, who listened while Mikey rambled on and on about pain, and brain muscles, and dreams, and just every day little things that in his head were no longer so little. Donnie knew. Donnie understood so much. This wasn't science but it was science. It was a different science. It was an impossible science, implausible, unrealistic, bizarre. Unmeasurable science was still science. And so Donnie rocked his only little brother, his chin on Mikey's head, and he made agreeing murmurs and sympathetic hums, and when Mikey asked heartbreaking questions, he answered them as best he could. He wasn't a doctor, he was an engineer, but this was his family and he had to be their doctor.

Mikey leaned against his immediate older brother's shoulder and kept his eyes shut while he talked, and he could see Donnie still, his eyes closed and tight with sympathy, really listening, really listening, and he relaxed and just held on a little tighter, as though Donatello were holding him afloat and the waves were a little too high.

And later if anyone asked he would pretend to not remember. That night, Donatello came to his room with an extra blanket and Michelangelo made room, and Donnie was a great cuddler, and they traded nightmare stories back and forth. And when Donatello was jolted awake in the middle of the night by nothing in particular, he saw that Mike was sound asleep, and Don realized that all he needed was reassurance, and he was totally fine with that.


	2. I'm Waiting For You To Hurt Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes Michelangelo gets more upset than usual when there's a family fight.

He didn't mean to do it, but after that night terror a few days ago, he didn't even know if he could trust his senses. He didn't tell anyone, didn't leave a note, but he made sure that his T-phone could be tracked.

Once on one of the rooftops, he practiced throwing his body across them, feeling the wind spiral around him. The first few were heart-stopping, literally death-defying, where he hung in the air between roofs, grasping at air, his mental muscles straining to hold all his weight and move it. He got easily distracted. Too many shiny things. At least that SNRI was still working. He could actually feel his neurotransmitters sparkling alive with every mental muscle flex.

That one revealing conversation with Casey Jones – before the hysterical laughter of course – had made him realize how deeply all this stuff reached, so deep down, and he couldn't really feel it unless he wanted to open too many doors, break down too many walls, and he had worked so so hard to stack all the memories in that corner, plus the locked doors and extreme walls. Right? It was still like that, wasn't it?

Casey had mentioned his younger sister's need to think happy thoughts to accept her nightmares. Mikey supposed he had always been able to do that. He did it now, so instinctive and automatic it was like spinning the kusarigama blindfolded. He thought about watching Donnie draw up plans for one of their vehicles, his tongue sticking out, his epic concentrated dedication an absolute fascination. He thought about Leo performing a brand new kata, sweat beading his forehead, how every muscle flexed and tensed, how his own mind began spinning with bouncing ideas on how to copy it. He thought about Raph punching a practice dummy, a casual snarl on his lips as if he didn't even know it was there, how his fingers were in perfect alignment to make those fists, how his legs stretched so specifically to widen and balance his stance.

He thought about the way Master Splinter's whiskers twitched a certain way when one of them walked past him. He thought about the way April's freckles merged with her blushing when one of them complimented her on a skill.

They really didn't believe he could concentrate on things, but sometimes that was all he could do. It was a different kind of distraction.

A scream cut through the air and he lost hold on his mental muscle. Thankfully there was a roof ledge at the edge of his fingers and he dug into it, hanging for a moment, focusing. It wasn't a human cry, probably a stray cat fighting for food or territory?

_Or another mutant…_

They were all over the city now, hiding in shadows and abandoned places, thanks to the mutagen canisters that had been dropped.

That _he_ had spilled.

A quick moment of _Mikey, you idiot!_ and then Kirby O'Neil was a mutant bat, and they all took the blame during April's pained accusations. But they were a unit, and, well…

He knew what that meant.

He flipped up and over and landed on his shell with an irritated _Ooof_! That was him. Mess Everything Up Mikey. That had been a long time ago. What, a year? Two? They were just about seventeen, their Mutation Day was coming up. But even now, even if they had stopped yelling at him, even though the slaps across his head were less frequent, he understood. It was too easy to say it wasn't his fault. It was his brain. He was not necessarily responsible for what his brain did. The last year had proven that. Psionics were really no different than ADHD or major depressive disorder – hah, did he really have depression, that was unbelievable! But medicated or dead famous comedians had been proof – and he need to work alongside his brain's oddities rather than treat them like shiny toys. Right? April, after her neurology class, had called it something brand new and weird. Neurodiversity? Neurodivergence? Anything that made your brain atypical, alternating from average brains. HAH! Well, yeah. Didn't people try to kill their kids who were like that? Should he feel lucky his issue was ADHD and not…

He was thinking too much again. What was he doing again? Right, rooftops. Jumping. Telekinesis. The weird scream from somewhere. He should investigate. Maybe. Probably. Should he? Wait, wasn't that what clairvoyance was for?

He looked up at the full moon. He recalled the noise. He felt his sight blur and fade a bit. Ah! It was a cat. A…calico? It was too far for him to—wait, was that…mutagen? There was a girl there, she had black hair, pale skin. She was grabbing the cat, she had mutagen all over her skin. The vision faded. He fell back, panting. No, they were too far away and it was too late. For all he knew it could have been Downtown Brooklyn. There was a sudden sense of someone pushing against his mind, someone with power, and he grabbed his head and everything was gone. He was cut off. He shook his head roughly, got up, and began running again. He cleared the gap between rooftops effortlessly this time.

He remembered when he pranked Raph a little too much last week, and Raph had twisted his arm enough to hurt, and by pure instinct his brain had lashed out and Raph had ended up halfway across the lair, sliding until he crashed into the dojo tree.

He had apologized for hours, until Raph had glared and growled that it was more annoying than the prank.

The tracker on his belt suddenly bleeped, loudly. He skidded to a halt. Had they been chasing after him? Did that mean he'd done something wrong? He always did something wrong and it always felt brand new when they yelled at him. He was worthless and hopeless anyway, so why bother arguing. Rolling his eyes, he sunk down, drew his knees up, and waited for his brothers to find him and scold him again.


	3. Silence Is A Sound

Raphael and Michelangelo were playing one of the Silent Hill games when Mikey shuddered, jerked, and made a high-pitched strangled cry. The controller fell from his hands. Raph paused the game and watched him with huge eyes, prepared to move.

Mikey's eyes were open and fully clouded. Raph began twitching. Minutes passed. When Mikey staggered to his feet, Raphael stood with him and grabbed both arms. Mikey looked at him, looked at him with clear and scared eyes.

"Don and Leo," he gasped. "We need to help them. Purple Dragons-"

"Where?" Raph barked.

"I...that junkyard. The one Donnie likes to..."

Raphael spun, grabbed his brother's wrist, shot out of the lair like a viper, feeling Mikey match his speed...

They were topside and melting to shadows before time could register. The junkyard was close by. The sun had just set, throwing orange and red fingers across the sky. Michelangelo hadn't made a sound, and even now his single telepathic projection was quiet: _Raphie, you're gonna break my wrist, let go!_ and Raph yanked away but didn't look back, and they had rolled into the darkness of the junkyard and weapons were drawn and Mikey had already prepared his kusarigama, blade glinting as sharply as Raph's sai. There was absolute silence.

Raph tilted his head toward Mike's. _Can you sense them?_

Mike's eyes clouded again and his head slowly turned from one side to the other. _There. In that corner over there. Tied up with chains. Dragons are gone, they took something Don wanted. He really wanted it, Raph...  
_

Raphael was already running. By the time the two had arrived, their concussed, bruised brothers were awake and unsteady. Mikey used telekinesis on the chains and to help steady them as they gratefully leaned on their rescuers.

Back home, in the infirmary, Donatello allowed Michelangelo to dip into his mind and then bark orders at Raph to apply medical treatments. Mike's hands were a little shaky as he probed the bloody head wounds, and Donnie just smiled, mumbling "Good job, little bro" before passing out.

Mikey didn't stop shaking until Raph and Splinter had finished bandaging Leo and Don and made them comfortable. They both had smiles on in their sleep.

"S-sensei, I..." Mikey wrapped his arms around himself to try and stop the shaking.

Splinter took him by the shoulders and nuzzled his face. "You proved yourself to be very strong and clever, my son. I am very proud of you. You should go to your room and rest. I will watch your brothers."

He turned to Raphael, who put up his hands, insisting he was fine - and that he was going to make sure Michelangelo would sleep well. Splinter brewed his special sleep tea and Raph promised to take it to Mike.

Raph came into Mikey's room to find him staring at the ceiling, eyes clouded again. He waited until his brother blinked a few times.

"Hey, Splinter made sleep tea for you. He put honey in it."

Mikey drank the entire cup like a shot. He shivered a little.

"So, what was this vision about?" Raph asked, preparing to slide into bed next to him. Mikey put the cup on the nightstand and drew the extra blankets over them both, automatically resting on Raph's plastron.

"Doesn't matter right now," he mumbled. "Something about cats and mutagen and I think a person with cat eyes. I'm too tired to..." and he yawned, falling asleep.

Raphael lay awake for another half hour, counting the freckles on his baby brother's face.


	4. Mikey And The Telepathic Friendship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cat/human mutants may be all the rage and annoying, but I still love mine. I made her kind of like me, disabilities and personality, but more assertive and flirty. Besides, being a telepath means forming friendships in a day that might take months.

It was the dream that started it. It was the vision that finished it. It was the meeting that ended it.

Two – or three – psionic mutants randomly meeting in Manhattan in a non-random way was such the opposite of coincidence that he didn't bother telling his family where he was going. He told Ice Cream Kitty, though. Everyone told Ice Cream Kitty everything. She purred and mewed and licked them until they licked her back. Raphael had even taken to saying "Lick the right side of my face if you understood everything I just said." The first time she did it, he had fallen off his chair. She had danced in her bowl of ice and mrrred in delight, patiently waiting for him to keep talking.

Mikey opened the freezer door, scooped her up, and set her in her usual green ceramic bowl with ice. Kitty could tell he was impatient and worried. "Here's the thing…" he began nervously, rubbing his hands together. "Okay, sooo…okay, so I've been having these premonitions and now these remote viewings, and she really needs help, and they can't hold their own for long, because I think the girl is disabled and I think the cat can't keep up for both of them…"

Ice Cream Kitty tilted her head, a light bulb going off in her head. Her daddy was going to see another cat? Would he bring the cat home? Would Ice Cream Kitty have a friend? What about the girl?

"So, I know is that they're both mutants now. The cat got splashed with mutagen, and like, the girl grabbed the cat and got mutagen on her, and now she's got like cat eyes and her ears are pointy and she has a tail and her nails are claws? Mostly we just talk about the mutation. But the thing is… she's hurt. I mean… not hurt. I think she's, like, handicapped? And her new part-cat body isn't sure what to do, and now the Foot and the Kraang are hunting her down, and I have to _find_ her. Kitty, you understand, right?"

Ice Cream Kitty meowed loudly and nodded. Anything to help!

"…and maybe Donnie can help her, and I want to make friends and bring her and the cat here, but I don't know what Splinter and Leo would say, even though I've told them. But I've been having these dreams for a week and I can't do _nothing_ …"

In sympathy, Ice Cream Kitty grabbed her master's face in her paws and licked him thoroughly, rubbing her head against his mouth. When she looked up, his eyes were deep with love and gratitude. He licked around his mouth and gave her a thumbs up. "Thanks, Kitty!" I'll keep ya updated!"

When she was back in the freezer, Ice Cream Kitty settled into her chocolate bottom part and thought very good thoughts about this other cat that her owner wanted to find.

* * *

Mikey paused on a rooftop overlooking Broadway. Chinatown was never really quiet, not even at night, but it was also never really curious. Humans loved cosplay in this area and occasionally Don had joked that the four of them could slip out into a parade unnoticed, before being glared at by Leo.

The scent combination of strawberries, plums, ginger, vanilla orchid, amber, patchouli, coffee, and chocolate filled his nose. He shivered as each note separated and swirled in his delicate chef's palette. It wasn't food. It was…perfume? Wait…body spray! Whoever was wearing it wore it as though their body chemistry was meant to own it.

He smiled.

Carefully, he sent out a thread of power, with it a very gentle, very soft and cushioned _I am safe, you are safe._ And an equally strong thread touched his, like a tentative handshake. The voice that curved through it was a whisper, a worried alto. _Who are you? Are you...Mikey?_

_Yup!_ _My full name is Michelangelo. You can call me Mikey. I promise, I'm cool._

A long, long pause. He felt a cat brush up against him, nose twitching. It tickled. He remained perfectly still in his mind, physically twitching just a little.

_I'm…I'm Gaia. And you…are you a mutant? Like me?  
_

Mikey grinned, settled lotus-style on the roof, and prepared to share his life story, prodding her to share hers. And then with her consent, he opened the thread to his brothers and father, because he knew they could help.

* * *

Two and a half hours later, movement alerted him. He jumped back, moved into shadows. Someone was climbing a fire escape, very very slowly. But the first thing he noticed was a small, slender calico cat, a familiar calico cat, who sat casually on the edge of the roof and stared directly at him with grass green eyes. He didn't move. The cat opened its mouth slightly A voice rang out, "I can see you, you know."

He blinked. Wait a second.

"That's right. When we mutated together, I gained the ability to talk. And telepathy. I'm special. I may not be made of ice cream, but I can sure beat you at card games."

Michelangelo's jaw dropped. The cat closed her mouth and looked smug.

Another voice, feminine and alto and slightly breathless, called up, "Don't mind Akeso. She's getting used to socializing verbally." The sentence was followed by a yelp of pain, a curse, and a mutter.

Mikey ran to the edge and looked down. "Do you need help?"

The figure raised her head, and he blinked. He found his brain taking apart each of her features. He wanted to paint her portrait, because from his perception her features blended together uniquely. He saw Japanese in her cheekbones, Russian in her jawline, Swedish in her eye shape, Greek in her mouth and nose. Except that her eyes were amber cat eyes, and her nose looked somewhat feline, and her waist-length black hair had white and red streaks.

"Wow," she muttered, "that's the first time someone's pegged my whole ancestry without calling me exotic and I still didn't want to punch them."

He didn't know what to say to that, so he said, "…I'm an artist. And a mutant turtle. Looks are… a thing."

"No, I get it." She was reaching up toward the roof with her left hand, which was spasming. Mikey automatically reached down and closed his hand around it. Her skin was covered in a very fine layer of fur, and he could feel claws sheathed under her fingernails.

 _This is so WEIRD,_ they thought at the same time.

"Why do you only have three fingers?" she asked. "Turtles have five. I mean, sliders. Which you mutated from. Then again, you're also kind of hominid, so who knows?"

He could only shrug as he carefully pulled her up, wrapping his other arm around her curved spine to steady her against the edge of the roof. Her shaking seemed to slow as she looked into his eyes. Her left arm was bent close to her ribs. He wanted to grab it and massage it gently. It worried him so much!

A smile quirked her full lips. "D'you know what mild cerebral palsy is?"

When he shook his head, his mind filled with images and words. "Oh," he said softly.

"Yeah," she said softly. "I used to dream about martial arts. Or at least tai chi."

"I bet my dad could help," Mikey said.

"The giant rat who used to be human?"

"That's him."

They paused, long enough for the little calico to rub against her shoulder. A telepathic "ahem" filled the air.

"Oh, right, we're supposed to do the official face to face greetings," she said, and stuck out her hand. "Gaia Anastasia Mako. College dropout, sophomore year, now taking online courses in neuropsychology, living with my sister Rhea and her wife who are amazingly okay with my mutation. They own a veterinary clinic and a beauty salon respectively. I'm on disability because I have too many seizures."

"Michelangelo Hamato, home-schooled, living with three brothers and our adoptive father, ninjas our entire lives, living in an abandoned subway station in the sewers under Chinatown. Ever since I became psionic I've had seizures and migraines."

"Did I mention epilepsy and autism?"

"Did I mention severe ADHD and apparent depression?"

Pause. "Do you need a hug?"

"Yes. Do you?"

"Yes."

The embrace they wrapped each other in was the warmth of a fireplace in winter, the relief of a cool breeze in summer. Gaia was barely five feet, and was able to bury her face in Mikey's plastron. He could feel her tail, stuffed into her jeans, twitching to be free. Her legs, human, were trembling, especially the left leg. He held her tightly and nuzzled her head the way Splinter did to him, and she relaxed as much as her permanently tense muscles allowed.

"Your name is so awesome," Mikey said.

"My parents are really into Greek mythology. And most of my family is Japanese and Russian anyway. Your whole life is awesome."

"Your face is awesome," Mikey grinned.

"Your face is awesome plus your eyes," Gaia grinned back.

"No, you." Mikey felt his grin stretch.

"You more!" Her giggle was low-pitched and felt cool and soft, like pure cotton.

 _So,_ he thought at her, _autism is that whole total brain thing where you feel the world differently and communicate with the world differently and people think you're, like, existing wrong?_

 _Yeah,_ she replied, somberly. _Sometimes I'm terrified to come out to people. There's whole organizations who wish I didn't exist._

_I find that creepily easy to relate to._

_I'm so sorry._

_Me too._

They stood there without measuring time. What did time mean anyway?

A throat cleared. It wasn't the cat.

Mikey bit his lip and reluctantly pulled away from his new friend. He looked at her, and her eyes were wide, round and glittering. "It's okay," he sighed. "Gaia, meet my family."

He turned around, and smiled as his brothers and father stood in a perfect line, shoulder to shoulder. Splinter came forward, arms outstretched, palms up. "Hello, child," he said softly. "Michelangelo told us what he knows about you from your telepathic communication. It seems you have gone through much. May we offer you a sanctuary for when you need it?"

Gaia was shaking again. Very reluctantly, she put her hands in his. "How can I trust you? My sister says-"

"Humans lie," Raphael snapped, and she winced.

"Raph!" Don hissed. "Be nice. It's not every day that happens."

Splinter smiled. "Your family may accept you. But there will come a time when you will need the familiarity of other mutants. Our Michelangelo is very skilled at making people feel welcome."

They stood there for a long time. Akeso cautiously sniffed Splinter's robes until he smiled down at her. Michelangelo reached down and she let him pick her up and she nestled in his firm arms, purring.

"I…I take it I'm not the first human mutant you've taken in?" Gaia asked.

Splinter squeezed her hands. "We have assisted many who have needed aid."

"Plus," Mikey cut in, "you can meet April and Casey! April looks totally human but she's actually half mutant and half Kraang and she's psychic too!"

"See?" Akeso said, head held high, whiskers twitching, "I told you it would be a dramatic adventure if you went to meet this guy."

Splinter's whiskers twitched back. He tilted his head at Gaia, who was looking at the ground. Carefully, slowly, he reached out and tucked her hair behind her ear, which was a cat's ear. "You crave touch and sensory contact, don't you, Miss Mako?"

She nodded. "It's called sensory processing disorder," she said. "Some autistics hate being touched, some love it. I didn't even know who I was until a few years ago. My family was too busy teaching me to run properly."

Leonardo stepped forward. "If you want, we can help show you how to work with your limitations. Mikey's had such detailed dreams about you that we might as well know you already."

Gaia gave him a crooked smile. "Same here, Leonardo." She sighed. "Damn telepathy. You have one traumatic brain injury in your teens and it marks you for life."

"Two, technically," Donatello said lightly, "if you count the brain damage from birth that caused the cerebral palsy."

"It's cool!" Michelangelo winked at her. "I've got some damage too. Plus my leg injuries. We can be, like, injury twinsies!"

Gaia's shoulders shook with silent laughter. "You goofball."

Splinter smiled and reached out to her. "That is my son, indeed." When Gaia rested her head against his chest, arms tight around his waist, Splinter breathed in her unique perfume and considered his fascinating luck. He wondered how many humanoid mutants were in Chinatown alone, hiding and scared, with no intuition or friendships, and he squeezed his son's new friend just a little tighter. When she squeezed back and nuzzled into his robes, his sense of protectiveness flared hard enough to startle him. If his little family could make even one person feel all right, that was good. That was why he was here.


	5. Experimental Subject Coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I got inspired to write this after I created my first "chocolate coffee smoothie" and realized how calm and settled my brain felt. I can't take ADHD meds if I'm on epilepsy meds, since ADHD meds can cause seizures, so I've been looking into Ayurveda herbs and amino acid supplements. And caffeine. Caffeine works too! I just make sure to take just enough, along with some other supplements like omega-3 and vinpocetine, and it's been quite helpful so far.

"You know," Mikey said, "put enough sugar and cream and chocolate in it, and I could learn to really like coffee." He audibly slurped the rest of his mug, licked around his mouth, and shimmied a little, his grin just a little too wide.

"Oh, Newton's Fourth Law, what have I done?" And Donnie buried his face in his hands.

"Relax, bro, you were the one who wanted to try the experiment to see if—whoooaaa."

Donatello raised his head, eyes already wide. "What? What is it? Mikey? Are you…uhh. Mikey?"

Michelangelo was sitting totally, absolutely still. He blinked very slowly, twice, four times. His head tilted to one side, the other side, back to straight.

"Donnie," he said in a low voice, "it's so _quiet._ "

Donatello yanked his laptop toward him and began typing. "Mikey, tell me everything you're feeling."

"I…I…my brain, it…there's no bouncy bouncy. All my thoughts are, like, lined up. You know? Like, they're less jumbled. They're not running around screaming for attention. Does—does that make sense, Donnie? Does it?"

"Yes." Don was nodding ecstatically. "It absolutely does, Mikey. Continue, please!"

"I…like, I can _think_ one thought without twelve other thoughts shoving in. Is that…is that what the experiment wanted to do, Donnie? Is that what you're looking for?"

Michelangelo's bright azure eyes were eerily focused on his own deep chestnut eyes, and Donatello felt that stare drilling holes in his skull. "Yeah," he murmured. "Yeah, Mikey, I was hoping for that. Lemme just add some data and finish these calculations, and then we-"

Hands grabbed the top of his laptop, steady and strong, and Mikey's face was right above, staring and staring, and a grin split across his face, a grin bright and beautiful. "Donnie!" he squeaked. "Donnie, my brain is so _quiet._ Donnie, what do I _do?_ "

Donatello found himself grinning just as widely, just as ecstatically. Euphoria filled him unexpectedly. "Go with it, Mikey," he said, almost yelling. "Feel it! Do a backflip. A kata." He finished typing with a flourish, like a concert pianist, and saved it. His shaking brother slammed the laptop closed and reached for his hand.

"Spar with me, Donnie," he gasped. "I need to feel…I need to _know._ "

Hand in hand, they hurried to the dojo. The rest of the family was there, meditating, and the glanced up and stared.

"Remember that coffee experiment I was going to do with Mikey?" Donatello said.

Leonardo frowned. "You mean, to see if it would help calm his ADHD?"

Both Don and Mike nodded enthusiastically.

As Donnie opened his mouth, Mikey gasped, "It's working, guys! I can feel it! My brain feels all quiet and calm-like!"

As Leo and Raph stared open-mouthed at each other, Splinter stood and inclined his head. "Please," he said, "demonstrate."

Mikey and Donnie grinned at each other and bounced a little, like eager children. They drew their weapons and took up their stances, while the others made room. Before Splinter could open his mouth, the two bowed to each other. Donatello moved first, twirling his naginata as hard as he could, advancing with determination. Michelangelo merely stood there, lightly spinning his nunchucks, a smile on his face. The instant before Don's weapon struck, Mikey shot upward and flipped forward, catching the staff in his chains. He landed silently on one foot and pivoted, executing a perfect dragon kick with a focus they had rarely ever seen. Donnie's staff flew out of his hands as the kick struck his abdomen, and the shock on his face warred with the pride that radiated.

"Mikey," he breathed, "that was _amazing._ "

Mikey, quickly detangling the weapons, lit up the room with his smile. "Really? You mean it?"

As one, they looked over at the others. Raphael's jaw was dropped. Leonardo's eyes were as wide as they could get. Master Splinter had an expression of stunned, startled pride.

Don flipped back to his feet and threw his arms around his only little brother. They fist-bumped. "So," Donnie said. "Coffee!" Mikey nodded. "With chocolate!"

"Well, medicine has already shown that strong stimulants can soothe the overactive hyperactive brain," Donatello said excitedly, grinning so hard it hurt.

"See?" Michelangelo said. "I told you I wouldn't bounce off the walls."

They slung their arms around each other and sauntered out of the dojo.

"But," Donatello said, "I am limiting you to two cups of coffee a day until we figure out your tolerance levels. I'll be the control. You keep experimenting under my strict supervision."

"Hey, as long as there's chocolate in it, I'm your science bro, bro!"

"You know, I could ask April to buy a chocolate protein shake, that way you'll also be getting vital nutrients and amino acids. Tyrosine, taurine, and inositol have been shown to help alleviate seizures and migraines."

"Man, Donnie, you are so smart. Hey, wanna go skateboarding later?"

"Absolutely! We can test your physical reflexes – and your telekinetic reflexes at that. Who knows what you could do with an actual attention span."

"Pfft. Love you too, Brainiac."

Still standing like statues in the dojo, the rest of the family blinked at each other.

Raphael was the first to speak. "Did…did Donnie just scientifically prove that _giving_ Mikey _coffee_ was the way to make him _stop_ bouncing off the damn walls?"

Leonardo drew in a deep breath. "I am now both intrigued and afraid to go into battle with Mikey like that."

"I suppose," said Splinter, "that it really is true how the most unexpected ideas are the best solutions."

Moments later, from outside the lair, two voices joyfully screamed "Booyakasha!" followed by Donatello yelling, "Best! Experiment! Ever!"


	6. In Your Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am firmly convinced that Mikey and Karai would become best friends once Karai finds them again as Miwa.

Karai had chosen her usual rooftop. And she hadn't think any of them would come, anyway. Maybe to fight, if they saw her, to question her loyalty and then the – but no, they didn't know that Splinter had knocked away the brain worm, none of them knew. But Splinter must know. Her real father. She kept thinking about that, over and over.

And then the whirrr _kluk_ of a grappling hook, and she shifted position. Her shoulder muscles tensed.

A head and shoulders popped up.

She hadn't expected _him_ at all.

"Huh," he said cheerfully. "So you're here, then."

She blinked. How did he _know_ she would be here? Here, at this place, at this time?

He casually slid over to the ground and pulled up his grappling hook. Karai searched for words. "Why are _you_ here?"

Holding up a finger, he sat down, legs out, and removed the backpack she hadn't seen due to his shell. From that pack, he brought forth small bags of snacks, junk food, chocolate. His feet wiggled as though in tune to music. In fact, he even took a version of an MP3 player.

"Okay! We're set." He looked up at her, smiling, and clapped his hands together. "I am here, dear sister, to hang out with you."

Frowning, Karai took a step back, uncertainty wrapping around her. Even with the expulsion of the brain worm, her anxiety about being anywhere near her…her real family made her shiver. And now here was the youngest – her baby brother, so to speak – willingly offering unconditional friendship.

She decided to test it. "How do you know I don't have the brain worm?"

He paused, his mouth turning down and his crystal blue eyes focused on her so deeply that she couldn't look away. It wasn't that infamous "Puppy Stare", it was more like staring into her mind. She felt an odd thrill rush over her head, in her brain, similar to the tingles when she brushed her hair. That sensation spread out, searching, and slowly pulled inward, and pulled back. She blinked. His eyes remained bright and beautiful and a gentle river you could fall into and swim forever…but they also seemed slightly hazy, as if a cloud were temporarily drifting over the sun. She suddenly, desperately wanted to take his sweet child-like face in her hands and murmur to him until the cloud moved away.

His smile lit up. "You don't have any brain worms anymore, Karai," he said very softly, in a voice she'd never heard before. "You're free."

And it was _how_ he said it that made the tears surge behind her eyes, but she wouldn't cry, she couldn't.

"H-how d-do you…know that?" she whispered, feeling raw and too open. "How can you…"

His eyes dropped down, his whole head dropped down, and she wanted to fall against him and lift his chin with her fingers and stare at him again, she wanted to drown herself in those summer sky azure eyes. "You trust me, right?" he said quietly.

 _To the ends of this earth,_ she thought, but all she said was "I do trust you."

He looked around as though nervous, then beckoned her with a finger and she eagerly found herself kneeling so close to him, almost touching. He took a huge breath, exhaled, and whispered, "I, um…a while back, I got this power…so…I can read minds and read emotions and I can see things happening and I can move stuff with my brain." And it was said so fast, in such a rush, that Karai suddenly wondered if there really might be someone else listening, or if he was scared, or…she didn't know what to think, because hadn't he already _known_ that her brainworm was gone and hadn't he already _known_ that all she wanted was a little company, and then there was that tingling chemical sensation and oshit what if he heard her thought about trusting him, would be really believe her? Why did she feel so alone and lonely right now, she hadn't seen the Shredder in too long and what if Splinter – what if her _father_ – couldn't accept her because she wasn't Miwa and…

And somehow none of that mattered, because Karai abruptly realized that she had thrown her arms around him, that she was on her knees pressed into his plastron, her hands slowly rubbing the skin above his carapace near his neck, and his arms were her around her waist and he was rubbing her upper back and they stayed there for a few minutes, and then his huge three-fingered hand slid through her hair and he murmured, "You're never gonna be alone, Miwa" – and she started crying, she let the tears flow and they were hot on her face. And so he carefully guided her head until it was against his shoulder and she could feel the odd unique skin pulsing with blood both cold and warm and he wasn't going to let go until she was _ready_ to let go, and so she held him and she sobbed, and his muscles were firm and strong and he could have supported her for hours and hours…

Sniffling, Karai slowly pulled away and he pulled back his arms. He put both hands on her face and wiped her tears away, and she hadn't even know that people even did that! And he kept smiling and it was like the loveliest summer day, because his _eyes_ were so wide and soft and kind and caring and he could never truly hurt anyone, not unless they hurt his family, and _she_ was his family, and that was why there was a backpack full of snacks and candy and music.

He pulled away, twisting for the backpack, so she sat back on her haunches, and found herself staring, in absolute horror, at the scars that covered every inch of him, the puncture wounds in his plastron and sides she recognized as stab wounds, the long deep scar on his left thigh from a sharp dagger; he might walk with a limp for years. Who would do something so evil and vile to such a sweet, pure, gentle person? What kind of monster could—

Hah. Look who was talking.

She shoved her fist against her lips. But he had turned, looked up, saw where she was staring. And again, still he _smiled._ "It's a super long story. But I'm cool now. It's kind of how I got my powers. Sort of. There were aliens involved."

"How long do you have?" she blurted out.

He cocked his head at her, a bag of dark chocolate hearts in one hand and a bag of potato chips in the other. "What, to hang out?"

She nodded. "I want to hear your story."

He grinned really widely, something she'd learned was the Mikey Smile, azure eyes dilated and sparkling, freckles standing out, dimples at the edges of that huge smile, and no matter what she knew she would never be able to say no to that face, not even when angry, and no matter what she knew she would always feel a surging, extreme, powerful need to protect him; not just a want but a pure animalistic desire to _protect,_ and no matter what she knew she would always feel agony and horror were he ever to be injured in her sight and her mind would become lost in rage. _So this is how it feels to have younger siblings._

If he had been reading her mind, he gave no sign of it; or perhaps he needed to form a psychic link with her. She breathed deeply and allowed herself to relax.

"I suggest starting with the chocolates," he said, tossing the bag between them. "Dark chocolate is kinda brain food, it increases serotonin and it contains magnesium, which is why it makes people feel so good."

Karai was reaching into the backpack and stared at him. "You sound like Donatello."

He blushed. He _blushed._

"Nah. I'm a chef, I gotta know stuff about food. I read lots of cookbooks. And Donnie's been teachin' me chemistry, since food is about chemistry, and I borrow April's schoolbooks on, like, psychology and neurology, because I have this brain thing." He took a piece of chocolate and was unwrapping it with alarming speed. As he popped it in his mouth, he said, "Let it melt on your tongue for a few seconds, 'kay? So why do you think I sounded like Donnie? I mean, it's just all words you learn, right? Cuz I'm not a genius, I'm barely a good ninja anyway."

And something told her he hadn't meant to say that last part; he quickly hunched his shoulders and lowered his head, like a child awaiting punishment. Karai's heart cracked. The chocolate on her tongue tasted just a little too dark now.

"You are one of the greatest shinobi warriors I have ever seen, Michelangelo," she said, firmly and proudly.

His head snapped up and those beautiful eyes stared, just stared and stared. She smiled and reached out, tapping his nose. "You are a natural, Olympic-level athlete, you are the fastest person I have ever seen, most agile and flexible like a cat, and when you wish to be, you are silent as shadows. You may not have the best concentration or attention, but when you focus on your mission, you are unstoppable. Your raw potential is extraordinary."

He hardly blinked. "You mean it, _onee-chan?_ "

She smiled wider. " _Hai, otouto._ "

The way his eyes lit up made her think there could never be a rainy day.

"So," she said, "your story?"

"Oh, right! Right! Good think I brought drinks, huh!" and he pulled out bottles of water, coconut water, cola, ginger ale. Karai settled comfortably in front of him. As the hours went by and the food was slowly eaten, and he kept talking, she found herself thinking terrible, murderous thoughts that would have made Shredder proud. No wonder this shining extraordinary boy was so haunted now. She filed it away in her memory; one day she would do something for him worthy of the unbelievable bravery, true grit, and pure willpower he possessed.

Silence fell when he finished. She looked at him. His face was almost blank, almost tired, as though telling his story meant little more than reciting tales from a scary book. But she knew that look too well. She refused to even ask and she wouldn't acknowledge it in front of him, but she knew it was the look of a true innocent who had been broken, crushed, shattered, and come out the other side still shining. Respect swirled up through her heart, with deep and mournful admiration.

"You said you had music?" she prompted.

"Oh! Yeah! Um, I didn't know what you liked, so I picked out some hard rock and metal and alternative and electronic dance, and I figured we could use one earbud each and, like, dance around – if, if you want."

Karai stood, extending her hand. "That would be perfect, Mikey."

So he smoothed and untangled the earbuds, handing one to her, and settled on a gentle techno beat, and then his torso was moving, shaking, snaking in a powerful hypnotic rhythm that wove through his hips and legs, and despite the carapace he was moving and spinning in ways she could hardly describe, his feet making no sound as his techniques blurred between capoeira, acro dance, contemporary ballet, electro dance, even Melbourne Shuffle. Karai was laughing too hard to even try to keep up with his frenetic, electrified interpretations, but her body was moving in ways she hadn't felt in years, and the music was beating into her head and thrumming through her veins, and when they grabbed hands and swung around and spun and marched and shimmied and stepped and tapped and pranced and lunged, they slowly began transforming their connected dance into a bizarre, improvised kata. By the time Karai was gasping from exertion, a pale hint from the sky signaled the approach of sunrise. Undeterred, Mikey switched to a soft, gentle song with both female and male vocals, and they cuddled together to watch the first rays of dawn spread over the city horizon. "This was the most fun I've had in… probably my life," Karai breathed.

Mikey just smiled. "Keep the chocolates, by the way, they'll help you feel less sad."

She smiled and looked at the now half-gone bag in her lap. "And they'll remind me of this night."

"That's a good thing, right, Sis?"

Her grin stretching, she kissed his cheek and tilted his chin so she could see his eyes, the stunningly brilliant sky blue eyes of a boy who should never, ever have feel the kind of pain and horror he had endured during his space travels. The urge to protect him and keep him safe was so overwhelming that Karai herself felt a desire to go back in time for him, to stop that horrific battle…

"It is a wonderful, wonderful thing, little brother. Please, never change. I need you to be exactly Michelangelo forever."

He gave a small smile, and she saw something deep in those eyes shutter closed, and she wanted so badly to ask what he was hiding, what he had left out of his long story that made him so sad. But she couldn't pry. Tonight she had learned how open and welcoming he could be, and that always had limits. Swiftly, he put everything in the backpack, even the trash to get rid of later, before he turned back to her, and she felt her heart drop when she saw those clouds.

But then his smile turned back into the Mikey Smile, and sunshine warmed her again. "You're pretty awesome, Karai," he said. "I hope we can do his again really soon."

He kissed her cheek again, and she blinked, and he was gone, and she felt the wind whip past her, and as she stood and stretched and prepared to go to the underground place she had made for herself, she could hear sweet laughter carried on a gentle wind.

Karai leaned into the wind and smiled. "Take care, my little brother." And she was gone.


	7. The Abyss Waves At You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on an actual epileptic experience. I was sitting up in bed and then I was lying down and not moving and feeling rather peaceful and very fascinated and slightly trippy. Sometimes I refer to these as euphoric seizures, as dopamine and serotonin are automatically dumped all over my brain. That abyss did feel pretty comfy, too.

You've never been good at meditation; everyone in the family knows that. But…you aren't really bad at it, either, you just have attentive with sensory problems, as your scientist brother likes to point out. You become too distracted by everything around you, it all rushes in so immediate and hard like a crashing wave, and you are carried away by all your senses on a roller coaster, until someone yells at you to stop fidgeting or humming. You learned early on that movement of any kind was actually your version of meditation, but you wanted so much to please your father, you wanted so much to be seen as good enough by your older brothers; so you did it their way and kept doing it their way, and it wasn't until you were fifteen that anybody realized that maaaybe there was a medical reason.

It was your scientist brother who figured it out and put it into terms, but it was your leader brother who took your hand and helped you work with it. It was fine that way; he was your hero anyway. You would follow him into fire.

But that was the other problem, wasn't it? You were too trusting, eager, innocent, naïve, pure. That's what they said. You loved shiny things: What does that button do? Hey, what's behind that big door? Hey, can I play with that? You were too curious and you easily became bored. Easily distracted, they said. Inattentiveness, they said. Hyperactivity, they said. Overactive imagination, they said. But you had used that to your advantage time after time in battle, and no one praised that. You were used to being the bait, the distraction, the wild one who led the enemy on a merry chase while your brothers worked to save the city or the world. Your imagination kept it fun; you could pretend you weren't facing blades that could bleed you out in minutes and twirling wood that could crush your bones in seconds. When your brothers were serious and upset you could toss them a bizarre joke and they would stare at you funny and wonder why the hell you would joke at such a time, but you could already see the tension in their shoulders lessen, you could already sense the mood lighten. That was your job. That was your role. That was your place.

You decided you absolutely could not be anything else, or the fabric of family and clan and team might rip. It wasn't really a fact, it was just something you knew deep down.

So when they yelled and insulted and slapped you on the head and argued about not wanting you around, you kept smiling, because they were your family and family teased each other all the time.

So now you are sitting casually on a long, thick sewer pipe over a wide hole in the ground that goes way, way down, so long and so deep that when you tossed a rock in, it took a very long time to hear it hit, and it was a faint splash. But did it strike ground before water? You could use your psychic senses to tell, but that might make you dizzy, and that wasn't really why you came here.

Leo and Raph were fighting again and Don shut himself in his lab, and Master Splinter went to his room to meditate for a few hours, and even the television plus comic books couldn't filter out that thick ugly feeling settling over the lair so you got up and mumbled something about getting away, and you jumped over the turnstiles even as you sensed Leo flicking his eyes toward you because no matter what Leo always tried to keep an eye on you.

You walked almost a mile before stubbing your toe on the pipe, and when you saw the depth of the gash in the ground, you suddenly became very, very calm, and smiled, and sat on the pipe, and kicked your feet, and that was your meditating. You weren't think about anything, really, you were just feeling your body from toes to head, feeling your breaths in and out, listening to your heartbeat which lately kept at a faster pace than your brother liked, but Donnie was the family doctor and made it his job to be concerned about everyone.

You begin to think about what would happen if you were gone. Not in a coma for three months, not like that –- really gone, like never coming back. Like, oh, dead. What would they think, would they keep calling you a screw-up, would they insult you and toss your name between them like a pointless toy? You doubt it; you remember what Raph said to you while you were in that coma, although it felt like a dream. It was possible that he was saying those things just so you would wake up and he could beat you down. But after you came back he was different, he was sometimes a little clingy, especially in the mornings when you made breakfast. Very especially during sparring matches when your left leg started bothering you.

It's a fascinating thought, though, and you turn it over and over in your head so you can see it from every angle. You remember dying, fighting the Alchemist; floating in darkness waiting for something. Or some place. You remember feeling impatient. But also peaceful. As if everything was finished, it was over, you could do something else, have a different life. You aren't sure if it's universal. You're not religious, but lots of people are, and you imagine that individual people will probably see whatever they really believe in. You are not afraid of death. But you don't know what it leads to, if anything at all.

You feel a little odd and you realize that you are rocking back and forth on the pipe. Donnie called it "self-stimulation or stimming" and it feels comfortable. But shouldn't you not be doing it on a metal pipe above a hole in the sewer when the bottom seems bottomless? Suddenly, you feel that you don't care. You can't care. Nothing matters except you, sitting on a pipe, rocking back and forth. You are starting to feel tired. Not sleepy tired. Fatigue. Like when you were recovering all those months, making poor Don have anxiety attacks. But you can't feel yourself care; that happened in the past. Your head is starting to throb. It might be a migraine. You can't bring yourself to care. You should get off the pipe and away from the hole. You don't care.

Someone is shouting from far away. Then you hear your name being shouted. And? Yes, your name is Mikey. Congratulations, voice. You rock a little harder, staring down at pitch blackness. You want to laugh. What does laughter sound like? You stop caring. But you are smiling. Those muscles are easy to move. You grip the pipe tighter, because it feels good against your skin. That's all that matters, the feelings and sensations that are making you feel good.

It might feel good to let go and tumble into that pitch and measure the length to the bottom. You can use telekinesis to measure, so your fall is not so immediate. Just let go and let yourself fall, and hold yourself just enough.

You lean forward.

Someone behind you is screaming, screaming your name; Stop, they are screaming, Get off the pipe Mikey, they cry. Nah. They don't matter. You don't matter. There is no Mikey. There is sensation, and calm, and the epic blackness below.

You feel your mouth open. Why is it doing that? You didn't tell it to open. Noise bursts forth. Wait, is that laughter? Are you laughing? Another sound follows it. Ohh, you know this sound. This is crying. Doesn't crying mean sadness? You aren't sad. You aren't anything.

The pipe feels good. The pitch black feels better. You slide forward, straighten your legs, and calmly let yourself fall off the pipe.

"MIKEY! NO!" The same voice from before is right there, and now a hand is grabbing your hand, and you don't remember allowing anyone to hold your hand. You close your eyes as blackness wraps you in a blanket.

"Mikey, look at me! Don't let go!" the voice shouts, and the hand tightens on yours. Excuse you, did I give you permission to squeeze my hand? You feel a giggling sigh escape you.

"Damn it! Raph, grab my ankles. He's not responding. I have to get closer."

You try to tune out that voice. It is very familiar. But right now, you don't want it in your world. There is only the darkness, and it soothes you and coos at you like a lullaby.

But then you feel your other arm being grabbed by the shoulder, your arm lifted against your will, and now that hand is being held and grasped and squeezed and wait, hey, you didn't ask for this, what are you doing, voice?

"I got him, I got him! Pull us up, Raph!" and the voice sounds desperate and terrified and panicked and in tears and also angry, and you hear another voice, after some grunting and growling, as you find yourself being pulled upwards.

"Damn, Leo, how come we're all so damn heavy! Okay, I'm gonna drag you past the pipe, hang on!" And that second voice growls and wordlessly yells, and your hands hurt because they are being squeezed so hard. But you don't have any more strength, the blackness pulled it out of you when it hugged you and sang to you. You can't even open your eyes. But somehow you are still smiling. Why?

You feel yourself pulled and dragged over the pipe, over the spot you sat, and then onto dirt and floor, and all you can do is lie there, you can't move, this is what fatigue is.

You feel yourself being turned onto your back and fingers are pressed against your neck. "His pulse is too slow," that first voice says.

"Think it's a seizure?" says the second voice.

"Could be," says the first voice again. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say he was actually meditating before the seizure came."

"Huh. I guess he really does have to move while meditating. But I'd rather he did that without giving me a fuckin' heart attack."

"I don't think he even realized." The first voice is very soft. "I know I can get very deep into trances, but maybe Mikey goes somewhere none of us can touch." A hand presses against your forehead. Suddenly you sense names. Leonardo. Raphael. Your brothers. Yes! You must have fallen off the pipe. Leo grabbed your hands, Raph grabbed his legs. You feel so foolish now. But it was so peaceful, so calm, so relaxing and effortless. You want to cry, but you just cannot move. At all. So you wait. And you think. And you feel.

Someone carefully picks you up and you are cradled in a pair of strong arms that feel like home, like protection, like ultimate endless love. _Leo,_ you realize, and you would smile if you could. "I've got you, baby brother," he murmurs, close to your face, "I love you. You're all right, you're safe."

Yes, you think. You _believe_ it, with everything you are. You believe in him.

There is a long silence. You sense movement. Your brothers are walking, breathing, but not talking. That is all right. Sometimes you don't need to talk.

The silence stretches on, and the fatigue presses against you like a fog. You are at the very edge of sleep, but something keeps you steady. You feel everything around you, but it is dulled. It is all right. You are calm.

"What the hell, guys?" That voice, that's Donatello. Oh, he sounds scared. "One minute I peek out my door to tell you to stop yelling and the next you run out of the lair like bats out of hell and _why_ is our baby brother unconscious, Leo?"

"It seems," Leo says in a firm voice, "that he went off to meditate and he had a seizure and almost fell down a huge hole in one of the tunnels."

You are gently placed on a bed, and hands are touching you, and you know that touch too well, you can recall his touch in your sleep, and then Donnie mutters "His pulse is far too weak, and he's sweating profusely. I know you said seizure, but I'm also thinking syncope. I'm starting him on an IV of saline and norepinephrine."

Sometimes you have no idea what Donnie is talking about, but ever since you became psionic you've been reading medical books and sometimes Donnie lets you read his mind. So you know what that all means, and you feel fascination because shouldn't your heart rate be _too_ high? But then again, you were meditating and you probably fell into a trance, so that would do it. But why would meditating cause a seizure? You assume that the part of your brain that holds back seizures probably let go because you were in too deep. Hmmm. You'll have to talk to Sensei and maybe Leo. Maybe your meditations with the group will have to be different. You still can't sit seiza, anyway.

And you still can't move or wake up. Doesn't this bother you? Nope. You still feel very peaceful. Maybe you made it happen.

You feel a needle slide under the skin inside your elbow. You hear Don say, "Okay, starting saline drip. Injecting norepinephrine…there. We'll wait a minute to see what responses there are."

Suddenly your body floods with…energy? Awakeness? You can't find the right words. But you feel your muscles spasm and your entire body almost surges up, before coming back down. You can feel movement now. Your hands twitch and clench. Someone takes your right hand. "Mikey? It's Donnie. Can you squeeze my hand?"

You feel the connections between your brain and your body light up, and you squeeze as hard as you can, which is weak, and you want to kick yourself. You feel helpless. But at least you made Donnie happy, because you sense him nod and smile. "Good," he says. "Do you think you can open your eyes?"

Ooh. That might be hard. Hm. Your eyelids feel weighed down. You move your eyeballs beneath them and you sense another nod from your brother. You hear Raphael mutter, "Come on, Mikey, you can do it," and that encourages you. But where is Leo?

A hand slips into your left hand. "We're all here, Mikey," Leo says. Come up and say hi."

And you can feel your eyelids, and there is less weight, and you very slowly open them, and three smiling faces fill your view. Somehow, the muscles around your mouth form a smile.

"Hey, you," Leo says, like he's about to cry from happiness – crying isn't just about sadness! you abruptly remember – and you manage to make a humming noise that you hope comes across as a greeting.

Donnie shines a small light into your eyes and tells you that you're okay, that you must be dizzy and exhausted. Somehow, you make the muscles in your neck move so you can nod your head. That's tiring. But your hero big brother is smiling at you and his sapphire eyes are wet and shining, and you just want to tell him that you love him, you _need_ to tell him that he's always there for you and you can't thank him enough, and you didn't mean to fall off the pipe, all you were doing was thinking and then thinking turned into feeling and then nothing mattered and…

Leo is squeezing your hand so tight and he leans in like he understands. "We'll do supervised meditation from now on, okay, Mikey?" and his voice is raw and rough, and he nuzzles you and you just manage to weakly nuzzle him back. And finally you can open your mouth and you find your voice, and all you can say is "…love you, Leo…" and that is good enough, because that is all you need to say.


	8. Smile, It's Only Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I honestly have no idea how Kirby O'Neil is qualified beyond simply psychology, so I decided to expand his character. Makes more sense to me. Plus, he probably would know about all the mental delicacies that exist in the brain. I am hoping his actual professional knowledge is utilized in canon. The boys certainly have a lot of...issues that he could help with.

As she began to resurface, the first thing she registered was heat. It rolled around her in waves, transforming to liquid on her skin, to nausea in her gut. She was so thirsty, but somehow not. Her head pounded, and it wasn't just heat, she felt bruised. She managed to part her lips and her throat hummed, and she heard a feeble cry, and oh god was that her?

"Hey, sweetie." That was her father. Where was he? It was too hot to open her eyes. "Honey, can you hear me?" her father asked. She desperately tried to nod her head, lift her hand, something, anything. All that happened was another moan. It was something.

Her father's hand was pressed to her forehead. "It's all right, April. Don't try to move. You're burning up. Donnie and Mikey will be back soon and they'll help bring the fever down."

 _Fever? For how long?_ She couldn't remember anything. She breathed out what she hoped was a question mark.

"I bet you want to know what happened, huh?" Ahh, thank you, Dad. "Well, you and the boys got cornered by some Purple Dragons. You fought so well, it was amazing, Leonardo was so proud. But then one of them stabbed you in the shoulder and kicked you into a wall. You lost consciousness. The turtles brought you home to me instead of their lair because of our first aid supplies and so you'd be more comfortable. Then Michelangelo did that…you know, that psychic telepathy thing he has with you? And he realized you had been poisoned."

_Poisoned? What? Why…why would they…_

Her dad sighed. "So, Don's been working on an antidote and Mikey's been using his powers to see if he can bring your fever down and purge the poison. The problem is, it's, well, I guess it's affecting him, because he's developed a fever and you know how bad that can be for them…"

_No! No, no, he has to stop! Dad, tell him to stop!_

"And so they went down to the lair to gather some things. Don's equipment, herbs, I think? Leo said something about a…a vessel for Mikey to move the poison into. It's the least scientific thing I've heard, but we've had stranger things happen."

She listened to the small chuckle at the end there. She felt relieved. Mikey shouldn't take on her illness, she should try to get rid of it on her own. She whimpered again, breathing heat, and a cold washcloth was pressed against her face. It felt wonderful.

"Kirby?" That was Donatello. "Any change?"

"She might be trying to wake up," her father said. "She groaned a few times. I think she can hear us now." She heard him stand. "Michelangelo, you look terrible. Come sit here, you're about to fall over."

There was some shuffling. Mikey spoke just above her, and the weak rasp in his voice shocked her. "It's cool. Splinter gave me a chunk of rock. Said something about energy transmuting. I think I can manage that."

 _Oh, Mikey,_ April thought, _what have you been doing to yourself?_

He let out a huff of laughter and then his hand was on her forehead. "Ease up, April. I'm fine. Let's get you better first, 'kay?"

No! It wasn't okay! She needed to fight this heat and help him!

"Don't even think about it," he said, "you did good enough."

Her father spoke up. "Are you reading her mind? Is she talking to you?"

"Heh. She's trying. She's stubborn. She can hear us and she's trying to fix herself. Silly."

"April," her father said in his "dad" voice. "You listen to the turtles. All right? Just rest. I don't want you putting any strain on yourself."

_But Daaad!_

Mikey laughed roughly. "Dude, she pulled the But Dad whine on you!"

"I figured she would. That's my little girl."

From her other side, she heard Donnie grunt. "Okay, here's some IV fluids. Mikey already closed her shoulder wound up, nothing's infected. But getting her hydrated and cooled down is imperative. Mikey, you got that malachite stone?"

"Right here, dude." Suddenly, he coughed and gasped for breath. Then there was Leonardo's voice. "That doesn't sound good. Don, you don't happen to have an extra oxygen mask, do you?" There was an odd, intense thumping sound. Mikey sounded awful as he seemed to struggle on an inhale.

"I got it." That was Raphael. There was more movement. The only sound was Mikey's breathing. "Donnie, gimme that. I know what to do."

More shuffling, more movement, and then something hissed, and she listened to Mike take a shuddering breath. Then another, and again, until he sounded okay. "Cool, okay. Thanks, Raph."

"I'm keepin' this nearby," came the tense reply. The hissing turned off.

"Whatever keeps you happy. Donnie, lemme know when you're set."

April felt the edges of plastic on her lower face, then more hissing. Air flooded into her mouth and nose. Cool, beautiful oxygen! She breathed, and breathed, and it was much less scorching.

"There we go," Don said soothingly. "Deep breaths, April. Okay, I'm going to give you the IV fluids now. You're going to feel it here and here," and he tapped the inside of her right elbow and the back of her right hand. She wished she could nod. She hummed instead. Why couldn't she open her eyes? Oh, right, it burned.

The tiny bites from the needles were nothing compared to the heat inside. Mikey laughed grimly. "Dude, the needles hurt less than her fever. She's, like, on fire. She can't even open her eyes." April felt the coolness of the washcloth again and moaned in near delight.

"Okaaay, aaand we're good," Donatello said. "Mikey, do your thing. Leo, can you-"

"I got it. Mikey, I need to keep my fingers on your neck to check your pulse. Raph, keep that oxygen on hand. Everyone ready?"

Her father's voice sounded small and scared. "It'll be okay, right, guys?"

"Yup," came Mikey's immediate reply. "Okay, I'm holding the malachite in my left hand; Splinter said pull with the right and flow out with the left."

"You sure you don't need me to do the mantras?" Leo asked, as if it were a frequent question. And Mikey responded as if it were. "Dude, no. Not unless I pass out totally. Really. Lemme do my thang." And April wanted to laugh.

She heard him take a deep breath and exhale, and then she felt his mouth close to her cheek. "Here we go, sis. Let me in easy, okay?"

In her burning mind, April nodded.

* * *

There was silence. A long, hot, heavy silence. April felt herself crouched lower to escape the waves of heat. She was in red darkness. She burned. She felt her breaths turning to panic. And then a familiar leathery hand was gripping hers.

"Hey, there!" Bright blue eyes peered into hers. "I found you!"

She grinned and stood and threw her arms around him. "Mikey, I'm scared. What do we do now?"

Gently pulling away from her, he held out both hands, cupping a shiny deep green striated stone that was slightly bigger than one of her hands. "Put your hands on this. Cup it like I'm doing. Capture all the heat you can and channel it. I think the stone can take it."

She frowned. "Can you? I mean, aren't you acting as the channel between me and the stone?"

He gave a lopsided grin. "Does it matter? You're in trouble. We need to help you. That's all that matters."

"Oh. Oh, Mikey, I don't think-"

"Hey!" he said, in a low, sharp tone that made her instantly stand straighter. "Don't go pulling that on me, April. I'm a ninja, I can handle myself. 'Specially with this sort of thing. Don't you dare back out on me just because you're worried for me. You're family." And his eyes turned a shade darker, and he was frowning at her with a scary focus.

"Okay," she said in a tiny voice. When he grinned, she felt relieved. She placed her hands on the wonderfully cool rock and breathed deeply.

She could feel all that heat gathering at the back of her head, and she stared at the malachite so she wouldn't have to look anywhere else, and she felt a small, steady line of heat drop through, down her arms, through her hands. A tiny, faint red sheen began to overcome the green on green shine of malachite. She bit her lip.

"Keep going," Mike was saying. "Keep going, because Donnie is administering an antidote right now."

"I don't want to hurt you," she gasped, burning and burning.

The malachite was tinted red all over now.

"You aren't hurting me. Stop it." But his voice was getting weak, and her own psychic senses were screaming at her. She wanted to yank the stone out of his hands and do it all herself. He snarled and tightened his fingers. "Mikey!" she snarled back.

"Just keep feeding it, April!" And his voice was definitely weak, something was very, very wrong. She glanced up and felt horror slam into her.

Mikey looked almost gray; his eyes were glassy, his teeth gritting in what looked like agony, his breaths coming short and fast. A sob of fear almost choked her. But he leaned forward, touching his forehead to hers, and she struggled to calm herself. The heat inside her was building, but so was the heat inside the malachite. She watched as the skin on Mikey's hands began to blister slightly.

"Mikey, I can't…" she gasped. "Please, you're in pain, I can't…"

"April," he panted, "Shut up and keep going."

And she had rarely if ever heard him so serious. Somewhere beyond everything, she heard Raphael yelling, heard Donatello yelling, and right in front of her Mikey was shaking so badly that she grabbed the stone and moved some of her fingers to his hand, stepping closer, trying to lend him strength she didn't have.

"We're almost there," and his breaths were coming out in small gasps. She felt his psychic form begin to fade; she realized the others, in the physical world, must be trying to pull him away from her.

April gathered as much energy as she could and screamed, _pushing_ that heat out into the stone. There was a sound like thunder, and a flash of white, and a sudden burst of blue electricity, and she felt nothing at all.

* * *

April's eyes flew open without her control. Sweat was cooling on her skin; there was a hissing in her ears. She pulled off the oxygen mask and coughed. Her father was there, taking her by the shoulders, but she squirmed to sit up. Fighting against him, she gasped, "Mikey! Mikey! Is he okay? Guys?"

Her father looked pale and alarmed and grateful all at the same time. She felt her arms go around him. "I'm okay, Dad, I'm okay. I just need…where is he? He helped me…where's Mikey?"

Pulling away reluctantly, her dad helped her sit up and look at what was happening. April screamed, and he had to grab her arm to keep the needles in place.

"No!" she yelled, "no no no, Mikey, no! I told you…I told you!"

The malachite was on the floor, slightly melted on a couple of edges and slightly cracked through the middle. Three turtles were huddled around the fourth, administering oxygen. Michelangelo looked, well, dead.

"It's okay, April," Leo was saying, and she had to shake her head to clear it. "He's alive. He'll be okay. Donnie's got antidote to spare."

"Wait," she gasped, "did the poison…was he…"

"Yeah, just enough," Donnie said, a syringe in his hand. "But it's okay, I prepared for this. Mr. O'Neil, can you please prepare a cold bath?"

Her father glanced at her and ran out of the room.

April felt her head spin. Raphael was reaching up and touching her forehead. "Fever's broken," he announced.

"Mikey's got a high one," Leo added. "But you're feeling better, right, April?"

She could only nod.

Her father peeked back in. "The bath is ready, guys. I added plenty of ice."

"Good," Leo said. "April, you lie back down and let the IVs keep working. Raph?"

With a grunt, Raph reached out and gathered Michelangelo in his arms as Don pulled away the oxygen mask. Leonardo took the malachite stone. The turtles hurried out of her bedroom.

"Oh, honey." Her father guided her back down and stroked her hair from her face, "it'll be fine. You know they've had worse."

April just frowned and burst into tears.

He let out a breath and scooped her up, rocking her against him.

* * *

Two hours went by. Donnie came back in. He disconnected the IVs. Her father helped her eat a small bowl of soup. Donnie left. Leo came in and sat with her. She didn't feel like chatting, but he talked to her about their training, and Don's recent inventions. He summarized the latest episode of "Space Heroes." April knew he was trying to distract her. She just sighed and nodded a few times.

Leo reached out and squeezed her arm. "Mikey's being set up in the guest bedroom. Same treatment as you. But it'll be shorter and quicker. Raph still has his special connection, and he thinks Mikey expected all this and is working from inside himself."

April frowned. "I want to see him."

Leo shook his head. "April, you can barely walk. You need to rest." He glanced at her father, who nodded.

"I'm not on IVs anymore," April insisted. "I had soup. Someone help me get to the guest room or I'll just hobble there myself."

"April," her father warned.

She shot him a look. "He's family."

Her father and Leo stared at each other, then shrugged. "Well," her dad said, "I'll get dinner started for all of us."

With a smirk, Leo picked her up. She firmly set her jaw and looked out toward the hallway. Leo walked. At the entrance to the guest bedroom, April wiggled until he set her down. She approached the bed slowly, so as to not startle Don.

"Hi, April," Don said, not looking up from hooking up an IV. "Why are you out of bed?"

"Because I'm fine." April folded her arms. Raph grinned at her.

Sighing, Donnie stretched and turned to her. She maintained her stubborn face as he checked her temperature and pulse. She only had a headache, and she maintained it was "nothing." Don just sighed again, a light blush to his cheeks.

April sat on the edge of the bed and brushed the back of her hand against Michelangelo's flushed face. "Hey, you," she said softly. "I know you can hear me. You'd better be fine. Or else I'm coming in there and kicking your metaphysical ass with that rock."

His skin felt too hot, way way too hot. The malachite rock was on the pillow, and she picked it up, running her fingers along the crack.

"Mmm…don't touch it too long," Mikey's exhausted voice said. "'S'vibrating."

She could feel it. A literal thrum and a psychic hum that almost roared. Physically, the rock was still hot. "Ow," she muttered.

Mikey's eyelids cracked open and he hissed. "Mmmgh. Hot. Yeah. Put it down now."

She did, not sure if Mikey was referring to the stone's heat or the fever's. She recalled how her own eyes had burned. She turned and found the bowl of water and the washcloth, and she dutifully wiped him down from forehead to just above plastron. He sighed, eyes closing. She glanced at the IV needles. "Antidote and fluids?"

"Yes," Don said. "Should be probably half as quick as you. Then again, you were out for about two whole days and nights. Your dad said you started waking up late this morning. So, if the pattern repeats, we'll be overnight guests."

The smell of marinara sauce, melted cheese, and a melody of spices was strong. "Oh, Dad's making Mikey's recipe! Aww!"

"Yay" came Mikey's very tired voice.

"You're not getting any," Don reminded him.

"Save me a bowl, then," he croaked out, before hitching on an inhale, causing his upper torso to spasm. Donnie grabbed the oxygen.

"Uh, Donnie, did you remember to bring the-"

"Of course I did, Leo, it's already in my bag. It's always in my bag nowadays."

April bit her lip at the resignation in Donnie's voice. And then she realized he was talking about Ativan, which had stopped the seizures back on the spaceship. She swallowed her question but it chewed at her too fiercely. She just sighed. "How often does he have them now?"

The three turtles looked at her, eyes narrowed, and she knew that her question easily translated to _Should we just call it epilepsy by this point?_ And nobody was exactly ready or willing to face that.

There was a long pause. Donatello rested his hands on Michelangelo's plastron, almost absentmindedly tracing the two horizontal parallel scars that hadn't faded. "I…for now I just want to call it a seizure disorder brought on by a specific trigger. He doesn't seize without cause, it only ever happens after he pushes the psionics too far or becomes overemotional during a session. Like when he sparred telekinetically with Master Splinter the first time. Raph about lost his shit."

"Only a little." Raph actually sounded apologetic.

"You threw yourself on him and wouldn't let us check on him," Leo pointed out.

 _Ah,_ April thought. _That makes sense._

Her father walked in. "The pasta is ready. It's probably not exact. Michelangelo is the type of cook who doesn't always measure precisely when it comes to spices." He looked around, frowning. "Is…is he going to be okay? Can I do anything? I mean, I didn't just take psychology. I went to medical school. I studied neurology."

April smiled proudly. "We were actually discussing his seizure…disorder, I guess we're calling it. It only happens with the psionics."

Kirby just nodded. "So, how often does it happen?"

"That's just it," said Leonardo. "We can't predict. If he uses his powers, an episode may or may not happen. It could be twice a week, twice a day, twice a month!"

Kirby nodded wisely. "Okay, actually, that sounds exactly like Acquired Reflex Epilepsy. It's very rare among epilepsies, but from what April told me about how Michelangelo became psionic, it fits that diagnosis."

Silence filled the room. There was a cough, and on the bed Mikey was weakly pulling at the mask. Don helped him get it off and turned off the oxygen. Mike turned his head to Kirby and smiled. "That your pro-profess'nal diagnosis, then?"

Kirby shifted. He began to walk to the bed and the nods encouraged him. He stood, looking down at Mike, who looked up at him patiently.

"Well. I did take neurology courses, after all. And… it does sound right. This isn't official, mind you. It's not like I can put it in my professional notes, and you aren't my patient. But if you guys want my honest psychologist opinion… there are dozens of types of epilepsy based on reflex alone, even from internal mental processes. And it sounds like Michelangelo has one. Epilepsy is a very wide-open condition, you have to realize. It's so much more than what people assume."

Donatello looked yielding and slightly guilty. "Yeah. Thanks. I really am not a doctor. Thanks, Kirby."

Mikey pulled in a harsh breath, smiled widely, and held out a hand. "Yeah, Doc, much appreciated. I'm glad we know you."

Flushed, Kirby took the proffered hand and winced. "Your skin feels like its burning."

"Been through worse. Ever electrified yourself from inside out?"

Startled, Kirby looked at the others, whose eyes had gone dark and sorrowful.

He sighed, figuring he would hear the story another time. He shoved his hands in his pockets to avoid stroking his beard; he did that when he was nervous. "My recommendation is to just keep the Ativan handy, and maybe meditation sessions? Or some of those teas that Splinter makes? I'm sure there are plant extracts out there that calm seizures and migraines, right?"

Mikey, who had sunk into the pillow, breathed, "Bacopa…"

Leo blinked, "Wait, really? The Ayurvedic tonic?"

Mike smiled again. "Sensei…made some tea with it…after I told him I dreamed about it. Said I should drink it…every day."

He fell silent, and Donatello jumped to check his pulse. "Shit," he muttered, and got the oxygen mask again, checked the IV bags. He changed the saline fluid bag and hooked in a new bag.

"What is it?" April cried.

"He's just sleeping," Don said, relief flooding his voice. "It's a type of healing sleep Splinter taught us. We will automatically use it if we're in enough pain. The antidote is in his system completely. He just needs rest. Kirby, mind if we all crash in this room tonight?"

"Of course you can stay!" Kirby's stunned reply startled them all. "Like April said, you are family. Now, come eat. After all…it's a family recipe."

As they shuffled out, April stopped and turned back, running her hand over Michelangelo's forehead. His skin was slightly less hot. She sighed and pressed her lips to his freckled cheek. "Thanks for saving my life, little brother. You're so good to me."

His voice in her mind said cheerfully, _Smile, April; it's only fire._

She smiled widely and squeezed his limp hand. _And you, Mikey, are the sun._

In her mind, she sensed the ghost of his bear hug, and she watched his mouth for a small smile under the plastic mask. Yup, she decided. Family.


	9. Chemistry Of Connection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I used to identify only with Donatello, until I realized how much Michelangelo I had inside me. These two make a wonderful combination of push-pull with "you teach me and I teach you" dymanics.

Donnie isn't sure exactly what fascinates him so much about the youngest in the family. It was always that way. He thinks his very first memory was of all four of them lying on a huge quilt on the floor, where their father set up random toys. Mikey grabbed the teddy bear immediately and then looked directly at Don, and Don remembers hobbling unsteadily toward the bear and the grinning face above it. He fell to his knees and Mikey giggled, a sound that echoed over the walls, a sound that made the other two brothers a few feet away stop tussling for a moment. Then the bear was shoved into his curious face, followed by a "DAH!" and so he smiled and said "MI!" and there was that giggle again.

As they began to grow, they seemed to be psychological opposites. But where Mikey babbled until he couldn't find the words, Donnie was silent until he could fill in a word, and it would earn a brilliant grin and sparkling blue eyes, and at that point the toddlers would grab hands, and little Donatello decided it would be one of his best inventions ever, this bond, this pact, where he would assist his younger brother when he needed it, and where little Michelangelo would entertain his older brother when he needed it.

He remembers that shortly after they all turned seven, Mikey started having nightmares and night terrors, and Splinter could not figure out why. But Donnie's fascination with science and the world was growing and growing and he knew instinctively to wrap his arms around his only little brother, making soothing sounds until the tears slowed, until Mikey begged him to keep the nightmares away with his "smartest brain" and Donnie promised, and when Mikey fell asleep Donnie looked up and saw the older brothers watching him, and all three nodded firmly at each other, a wordless pact to keep the nightmares at bay, be it with brain, with muscle, or with skill.

He remembers the science textbooks Splinter brought to the lair, when they were eight or so. He remembers escaping to a quiet room, reading through the books so thoroughly that most of the time he had no idea what was happening around him. But at some point, a cheerful, scratchy, rounded-guttural tenor voice called his name in the loudest, whiniest way possible, and he looked up for an instant, seeing his wide-eyed fidgeting brother at the door before returning to the book. Then that grinning face was a couple of feet closer. And a little more. And a little more. Until a green three-fingered hand plopped down to obscure the pages; he sighed and looked up directly into summer-blue eyes that begged him to play.

Sometimes Donnie put the book down with a very exaggerated fake groan, making Mikey laugh in delight. Usually they immersed themselves in a role-playing game, Mikey's wild imagination conjuring all kinds of worlds. Sometimes they wrestled or played tag. And sometimes Mikey sat on the bed or couch or big chair snuggled up to Donnie, and asked to be read to.

Donnie decides those memories are the most treasured.

He pulls up one such memory as he bites his lip hard enough to bleed and continually whispers "I'm so sorry" while pulling the straps just a little tighter. He doesn't think he's actually heard; the fever is rich and roaring and the infection took root hours and hours ago; all he can do now is keep irrigating and cleaning the massive wound and checking the fluid bag and the antibiotics and listening to the same whimpers of a boy terrified of nightmares, now terrified of his own mind in the daytime.

A month ago they began small rituals with Splinter, the two of them, privately. Donatello wasn't sure if Leonardo knew, as he had been so proud to be Mikey's "psychic lesson teacher" from the start. Sometimes Leo was too proud. Sometimes Raph teased him about it just to start a scuffle, which inevitably Mikey or Splinter broke up, unless Don actually heard them from his lab.

But Don kept to himself how he felt about Mikey's development over the last year. He knew that Raphael had become a little smothering in his desperate promise to keep their baby brother safe; he knew that Leonardo had gone a little overboard in wanting to train with their baby brother's supernatural skills. Master Splinter had wisely stepped back unless Michelangelo called for him, especially since that first telekinetic spar and its consequences. Splinter had been filled with guilt for days.

But then Mikey came to both Splinter and Don for a chat, asking if Don could help him learn about medical science with supervision from Splinter. That is, a telepathic session where Don would allow Mike access and describe and explain along the way.

It was going wonderfully, this personal little session with just the three of them. Mikey even started casually assisting Donnie in the lab, ignoring Raph's teasing about clumsiness and explosive screw-ups. Don looked forward to the once-weekly rituals. Mainly he enjoyed listening to his brother chatter on about absurd things, and the newest comics, and the small devices around the lab.

Up until one day ago, Donatello's world had been somewhat perfect, if he considered being a giant mutant turtle living in the sewers average. A day ago, the fight against a Purple Dragon gang was going well. And then one Dragon had run at Donnie with a suspiciously shiny kunai, and at the last second, Mikey jumped in front and took the dagger in the side up to the hilt.

The world slowed down and Donnie watched with horror as the man yanked out the dagger, now slick with blood, and went for Don himself again, to be tossed away by a growling Raph. In slow motion, Raph let out a roar and took down another Dragon aiming another kunai right at Raph, while Leo did the same to yet another one with another kunai. Donnie didn't even have time to wonder why they specifically had shiny, iridescent kunai daggers while his little brother collapsed against him and blood splattered and flowed and both his older brothers were yelling and battling furiously. Donnie's mind was autopilot overdrive, and he dragged an unconscious Mikey backwards to the roof's edge, out of the way, and found a clothesline and grabbed what clothing he could, pressing against the long deep slice and watching each colorful cloth item turn red; he managed to call out to Leo about getting home. And he barely listened anyway as he took Mikey in his arms and ran and jumped and he didn't quite remember how he got home, just that at some point he was running through the lair with a battered Raph and Leo behind him, and then he was in the infirmary shouting at someone to keep pressure on the wound while he grabbed a suture kit and that he needed a blood donor.

His medic mind took over completely. He watched his fingers work, stitching the wound, hooking up IVs, pulling blood from Raph. He watched his hands skillfully bandage and wrap as a tiny bit of blood seeped through. He was callous and business-like, as he worked the oxygen because the patient wasn't breathing properly, no time for fear or panic, and Leo would have to make Raph calm down and stop shouting because Don, well, he was too busy saving lives to soothe anyone right this second.

And then suddenly, that adrenaline began to drain. He felt his legs shake so he held on to the edge of that makeshift hospital bed. He finally allowed himself to look at everything through the eyes of a brother instead of a scientist.

"I need," he gasped, "for both of you to leave and calm yourselves down. Let me get Mikey fully stabilized. You come back in when I say so." And his voice was firm, despite his limbs shaking, and then there was silence, and he looked at Mikey, really looked at him, and pulled up one of those memories and clung to it.

It's a day later and Donnie is crying because he's not sure if the straps around his thrashing brother's legs are too tight, and he's trying to avoid being struck by hands flailing in hallucination, so he doesn't tighten the torso straps, yet, but at least Mikey isn't throwing himself off the bed and his frantic sobs are finally turning to whimpers as the sedative kicks in. Donnie wrings out the cold washcloth and presses it to his brother's sweat-soaked face, rubbing his shoulder, shushing and humming. He has left Mikey's arms free for personal reasons; he doesn't like having to fully restrain any of his family, and Mikey isn't a danger, and Mikey really hates being tied up. He asked that nobody come in for at least a couple of hours, and it's only been one hour. So he has time. He feels the shaking and jerking stop, feels the ragged breathing even out. He keeps wiping the cloth, and when his brother's head turns to him and stays, Don takes a deep breath and smiles, looking directly into glassy bright blue eyes, probably reacting to the IV painkillers and sedatives as much as the pain breaking through.

"It's okay, Mikey," he said, and he thinks it too, just in case, although he isn't sure if Mikey's psionics are even available in the state he's in.

The venom, identified as Xever's, coating those kunai blades, was meant for all of them. It was meant to kill them slowly, as their father watched.

And Mikey's body is still reacting, and he uniquely most likely still feels like burning from inside out even as Donnie has been carefully flushing it. One of the stranger side effects of Mikey's psionics is how infections and toxins affect him while the psionics work to get rid of them. Mikey's nervous systems apparently go into overdrive, and the overwhelmed neurology amplifies his sensory processors, his pain receptors, his anxiety. The psionics apparently take over for neurotransmitters responsible for pain relief. The psionics amplify attacks on the foreign substances. The psionics overwhelm in their attempts to fight back. At the same time, Mikey's brain, unable to keep up, isn't given an opportunity to let out natural pain relief like endorphins, dopamine, or serotonin, leaving him raw and vulnerable to pain and shock. For his body, it is either shut off and lose consciousness quickly, or suffer unbearably until his brain can pull consciousness away or manage to release any pain relief. Donnie knows that he needs to keep fast-acting painkillers and sedatives in his medical bag, because if a person's natural pain relief is blocked or shut down, it can be gruesome. And, they learned, with these alien M'Kari psionics, there is little opportunity to allow the mind to set up defenses or offenses before that unusual alien neurology takes over, startling parts of the brain in the process. In response, the mind is forced to shut down, or give in and be pulled along, which, as Donatello discovered, leads to hallucinations and very bizarre reactionary movements, physically and telekinetically. When it comes to Michelangelo being infected enough to cause fevers, the family has learned to restrain their poor brother and make sure nothing caught on fire, flew across the lair, or exploded.

"It's okay, Mikey," Don repeats, out loud and in thought, and Mikey seems to respond to one or both, because he draws in a shuddering breath and blinks very slowly like a cat, and his eyes seem to clear up a little.

His hand seeks out, and Don grabs it, and keeps his hand with the cloth cupped against his brother's cheek.

Michelangelo shivers and groans. "D-Donnie…"

"I'm here, Mikey, I'm right here. I won't let anything happen to you. Can you understand me?"

"Y-Yeah…" And Don breathes, relieved, and smiles. "Good. Okay. I'm flushing out Fish-Face's toxins from your body and I'm keeping the wound as clean as I can. I had to pull out the stitches once the bleeding stopped so I could irrigate. Do you understand?"

Mike nods, weakly, and smiles a little. "Your brain is so awesome, Donnie," he whispers, and as his smile widens, the cannula tubes shift just a little. Don grins widely and says, "I know," hoping to make his only little brother laugh a little.

That laugh is more like a huff but it lifts Don's spirits just enough, and he works the wet cloth down, wiping Mikey's neck and shoulders, because he knows how awful it feels to be so hot and feel cool relief.

"You're really hot," he mutters.

"You're not so bad yourself."

And Donnie laughs, because he was waiting to hear a joke, and joking means that Mikey is doing better, that maybe the psionics gave him back his body's ability to release endorphins and dopamine and serotonin.

There's a knock behind him. "Time's up, Donnie," Raph says sternly. "You can't keep him all to yourself."

"Flatterer," Mikey coughs out, and that brings three sets of footsteps running, and Don finds himself surrounded by two turtles and a rat, and he gently releases Mikey's hand. On the other side of the bed, Splinter takes Mikey's hand and nuzzles his cheek. "My son, thank Quan Yin you are awake."

"Probably," Mikey tells him jovially, weakly. "I saw her in a couple of dreams. Visions. Whatever."

Splinter is pressing a hand to Mike's forehead. "Have you managed to bring down the fever, Donatello?" he asks, just like a worried father.

"I'm working on it, Don says. "I'm pretty sure the poison is just now clear, judging from the way Mikey's acting."

They all nod, knowing all about how the psionics will put battle before defense in Michelangelo's body.

"I'll be fine," Mikey says softly. "This is nothing."

Raphael, in a now familiar move, puts his hands on both Mike's shoulders and stares into his eyes. "It is not nothing. And I don't give a shit how many times it's nothing, kiddo. You need ta quit getting yourself halfway killed all the time."

"No pinkie promises, bro," Mike says. "I can handle it." As a growl starts low in Raph's throat, Mike adds, "Besides, if Donnie had gotten stabbed, it'd have been worse. I'm not totally up on my medical education by Donnie Brain yet."

Raph and Leo glance from him to Don, eyeridges raised. "Whoops," Don shrugs. But he grins.

Sighing happily, Mikey closes his eyes. Don immediately checks pulse and breathing, sensing what is coming, and thirty seconds later when the seizure starts, he automatically slips one hand under Mikey's neck, remembering how Mikey somehow linked them enough for Donnie to be able to sense when something was wrong with his only little brother, he supposes the same way Raph got linked to telepathically speak with Mikey the strongest and the way Leo got linked to meditate with and soothe Mikey during lessons. Don leans in directly above Mikey's head and whispers comforting words, thinking them as hard as he can, and he feels it all rush out and get pulled into his only little brother, because he suddenly senses that the seizure is ending and that Mikey will be exhausted and chilled, so he quickly asks Leo for a second pillow and then he rubs circles on Mikey's plastron, humming with voice and thought.

A memory comes, and it is one of Mikey asking him to "translate" a physics textbook. They were twelve years old and Mikey just kept smiling no matter how big or strange the words became. He just kept smiling, no matter what, and it made Donnie throw an arm around his only little brother and pull him closer until Mikey's head lay on his shoulder, and he felt so protective and smart and happy and good.

Don now feels the muscles under his hands relax almost too eagerly, and as Mikey pushes against the restraints and begins to cry and apologize for things so far beyond his control, he presses his forehead against his only little brother's and murmurs that once he is well, they will go over that new copy of Gray's Anatomy that April brought, and compare it to turtle anatomy, and then go practice on a dummy.

In his mind, there is a whisper as soft as a breeze, and it says, _Your brain is so awesome, Donnie. Love you._ And he thinks back, _Your brain is awesome too. Love you Mikey._ And when his only little brother settles into a slightly uneasy sleep, Donnie sits there all night and keeps the nightmares away.


	10. I Am Always With You, Tiny Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on actual conversations with friends and my own experiences with major unipolar depression. It's hard. It's painful. Stay with us. Keep fighting. Someone will find you. Maybe that someone will be me.  
> Raph's speech about sticks is inspired by Boggle The Owl on Tumblr.
> 
> I always believed that Raph's soft spot for Mikey was on of the best things about him.

"If you could only sense how important you are to the lives of those you meet; how important you can be to the people you may never even dream of. There is something of yourself that you leave at every meeting with another person." — Fred Rogers

"Sometimes your joy is the source of your smile, but sometimes your smile can be the source of your joy." — Thich Nhat Hanh

"Maybe you have to know the darkness before you can appreciate the light." — Madeleine L'Engle

"Ring the bells that still can ring. Forget your perfect offering. There is a crack, a crack in everything. That's how the light gets in." — Leonard Cohen

* * *

 

He finally realized that they couldn't actually understand it when they forced him up for patrol, because he had been "moping and brooding" and it was "too weird to watch." He didn't even know the meaning of mope and brood. That was never his department.

Then, he remembered something Casey said about his sister, and something April said about herself, and something the internet said about a very famous beloved comedic actor who was dead. And he thought, and thought.

Across the rooftops, as they leaped and swung and stepped, he kept looking for him, and whenever he managed to make those bright green eyes lock onto his, he hoped he was communicating something strong enough to go beyond the link he had set up between them.

And it must have been more than enough, because those green eyes got very, very wide, and that gruff voice called out that the two of them were pairing up to take a different section of the city, and the other two shrugged and made them promise to keep their phone trackers on.

And then his arm had been grabbed by a strong solid hand, attached to a strong solid body whose muscles had muscles, and that gruff voice said "Make us glide. Thataway."

And so he pulled up telekinetic power like lightning on a calm summer day, and they raced to the end of the rooftop, and then he said "Ready, set, jump!" and they were falling toward an alley twenty floors down, and then they were hovering, and electricity purred around them, and they were slowly set on their feet in a corner full of shadows.

The only movement was a large dog with a trash can, and it backed off with half a roast chicken in its mouth, and then they were alone, and he slid down the wall, in the shadow, feeling fatigue in his head and his limbs and his gut, a weight that shouldn't be there, and he was wondering if he could actually psychically fake brightening his eyes, because they had looked a little grayish in the mirror.

His brother loomed over him for a few seconds. He continued to stare at the concrete, because it was fascinating.

His brother sat next to him, shoulder to shoulder, as gently as he could.

"If you don't wanna talk, do you at least wanna listen?"

And he tilted his head without looking at his brother, mulling it over. He wanted to talk. He needed to talk. But the first sounds out of his mouth were probably not going to be good sounds, nice sounds, happy sounds. He kept his mouth shut. He considered a mild block, just a little wall, but when he had first turned on that link between the two of them, he had been aware of the weird two way street. So he just let the sub-dark roll in lazily, coating everything, a layer of half silence and half murmur.

His brother sighed with that familiar particular growl when things weren't quite going his way. "Yeah, okay, I don't care anymore. You reached out. To me. That's a start. That's big."

He finally slid his gaze sideways, not believing it, because the sub-dark reaching out beyond his subconscious toward his amygdala, seeking to coat his limbic system, was not going to allow him.

"It's big because sometimes you don't realize that you have to reach out. If I've learned anything, anything at all, from my whole life, it's that it's never weakness to ask for help. I have to repeat it to myself every single day because I'll forget. It's why I became so strong. Because I made it my job to be strong enough for all of us, so as a team there would always be one without weakness. But you know what, little bro?"

He shook his head.

"There is a strength in weakness. And that's you. And I…I'm je…I'm envious."

Blinking, he stared, and spoke hoarsely. "No way, dude. Not in a million years."

That gruff laughter bounced off the brick walls. "I knew you would say that. That's how I know what's happening with you. Know what April told me, after you had that sparring session with Master Splinter that got scary at the end?"

He winced. "What did April tell you?"

"She said…I mean, I can't remember the whole bit, so lemme paraphrase here, she said that people who shine the brightest hide the most darkness. People who laugh the longest are the saddest. Stuff like that. Like…like that guy. The actor. And that other actor guy, what's his name. The…the ones where they said it was. Um. Suicide."

That last word was a strained whisper, and his mind finally caught up and he felt his lower lip tremble. "But…that's not…I mean, dude, I'm not gonna…ever…"

A rough, calloused, knife-scarred hand grabbed his and squeezed. "I know. You say it. I say it. Everyone says it. But 'member when Leo and I saw you sitting on that pipe over that crack in the ground, it was like you had no idea what the hell was going on, you just…went with it."

"I…kind of remember?"

A huff. "Yeah. Cuz Don says you probably passed out and had a seizure and your mind was out of itself. It was an accident. Lots of things are an accident."

He felt himself start to shake. "Raph, stop talking like that."

"Why?" And suddenly bright green eyes pinned him. "Why, Mikey? Because it's the truth? Because Leo and Don and Splinter have been looking at you funny but I haven't because I know? Imagine what it would be like if you wasn't on that drug April got for you. It took me a long long long time to wrap my brain around it, I was in denial, I didn't wanna see it, I didn't wanna look into my baby brother's big eyes and see that kind of…hurting. But I've been seeing it. And it's like someone's twisting a knife in my heart. You're hurting, Mikey. It's hurting me. Not because of this…this convenient telepathy thing we have. It's because I recognize it. I have a lot of ways of coping and acting out and…and…purging my anger and my worry and my fear, and maybe there is some fucked-up chemical inflammation or whatever, yeah, but I know how to turn it into my battle partner, see? And if I need an outlet, I pick fights. And if I need smiling…well, that's what you're for." And he grinned, white teeth flashing in the moonlight before midnight.

"I…" he looked away, rubbed the scars on his sides, on his plastron, on his leg. "I can't…I don't know if I can feel it that way…"

An arm around his shoulders pulled him close, close enough to push the edges of their plastrons together, their legs together, close enough to where their cheeks almost touched.

"That's fine. You don't have to feel any way. That's the point. Okay. Look." Raph took a long, deep breath. "Okay. Imagine…you're in a jungle. You got a sword or a machete, and it's dark, and there are things all around waiting to eat you. And you know that there is someone nearby, and you know that all you have to do, if you're in danger, is call out. It doesn't gotta be a full-on helicopter rescue with guns and shit. Maybe…maybe it's, I dunno, a stick. A bo staff. Or half a bo, just a stick, that's all. And you step in mud that's real deep, and you call out, and all you need is that broken stick to pull you out and then you can start pushing on again. Just something to pull you out."

Michelangelo nodded, his head on Raphael's shoulder.

"Or…you're in a pool, you're in the deep end, right? You get trapped under, you're tryin' to swim up to the surface but something keeps dragging you down. You call out that you need a hand, a lifepreserver, a floaty thing what the fuck ever, you just need some small thing to help yourself get to the surface so you don't drown. And the people around you just stare and insist that you're not sinking, you're not even close to drowning, why would you need help, you're fine. Right?"

He nodded, nudging and nestling under Raph's chin.

"Nobody around you sees you drowning. Nobody around you sees you sinking into that mud. Nobody gives you a stick, or a life preserver, because they don't see what you feel."

Mikey began to shake more, and Raph's calloused hand rubbed up and down his arm.

"But then, someone sees it. They sense it. They feel you drowning, sinking, falling. And they have a stick. It's just long enough to reach you. And that's all you want. Just a stick to pull yourself out of the jungle mud or the deep water."

He paused to wrap his other arm around Mikey, like a circuit completing, and Mikey heard Raph's heartbeat, slow and steady and calm. He listened to his own heart, fast and stuttering and in his throat. He wished he could break down and cry. He didn't think the hollow emptiness would allow it.

Raphael just held him tighter. "I'm your stick," he said. "And you're mine. Whether we know it or not. Life preservers are what you cling to when there's nothing else, and there's a reason they're called that. It doesn't matter if we can't break through the emptiness, it doesn't matter if you can't find the strength to laugh. You will. I believe that. It takes time, and it takes therapy, whether that be meditation or katas or punching bad guys or taking medicine or talking it out. Donnie and Leo aren't always as smart or wise as they think they are. And Splinter, well, he's set it certain ways You an' me, though, we're connected emotionally. Maybe it looks like we're on opposite ends, but we need each other. Because of this," and he waved his hand in an encompassing gesture. "I know there was a main reason you linked to me specifically so I'm kinda in your head more than the others, even if you didn't realize at the time. With Leo, it was so he could access your psychic self and guide you. With Don, it was so he could know what was wrong so he could treat it. But you and me, little brother, we got something special."

Mikey found himself smiling, sighing, and suddenly his throat was tight and his face was hot and he didn't think he could talk. But he whispered, "Raph…" And that was enough to open him, and he was sobbing, keening, the tears like fire on his skin, and he buried his face in his brother's chest and Raph rocked up, not making a sound, rocking back and forth and side to side, nothing but holding him.

"It…hurts…" he gasped.

"I know, Mikey," Raph whispered, and there were tears in his voice. "I know. That's why you gotta let it out."

"I…I don't…wanna…hurt you…" As the surge of telepathic energy crackled along his skin, jumped to his brother's skin.

"You ain't hurting me. You're my brother. You'll never hurt me. I love you. Gimme that pain. I know what to do with it. Just push it into me. I'll take it. I'll work with it. I'll do what you can't for you."

And the way he said it, with such ferocious love, determination, raw instinct, it was as if they were unstoppable. And Mikey felt the energy build and build, and he cried and cried, sobbing and heaving, and reluctantly he began to funnel outward all the darkness, the hollowness, the sharp stabbing loneliness in the nothing; and he sensed Raph's own signature energy, strong as fire, bright as fire, fierce as fire, matching his own exuberant cheerful dancing bonfires in a silent forest dancing like a newborn sun. And Raph reached out with confidence and pulled Mikey's emptiness to him, and wrapped it in flames and filled it with force and meaning, and tossed it up into the sky above the silent forest, and it became a tiny star guiding them to each other.

And when a bright, brilliant laugh filled the alleyway, Mikey took a second to realize it was himself. He nuzzled his way to Raph's cheek, kissed it, then pulled away and laughed. He pushed forward on his knees and he stood, and he threw back his head and laughed again, and this laugh was full of promise. This laugh was full of light.

He felt his older brother stand and move in front of him and hold his hands, and when he opened his eyes, Raph had a huge smile on his face.

"What?" Mikey said within the laugh.

"Your eyes," Raph told him. "They're bright blue again."

Mikey grinned widely. "Yay."

Both of their T-Phones rang out, and there were text messages from both Leonardo and Donatello. They were only a few buildings away, waiting impatiently.

Raph looked back at Mikey and took him by the shoulders. "Remember, this isn't a permanent solution. It can't be. Nothing is a solution. But it's a therapy thing. It's a way to…to handle it. To work with it. And when that dull pain in your mind hits you again, that emptiness that goes beyond sadness, and you can't feel like you're worth a damn, you come to me. You come to me and I will have that stick ready, and I'll light your way."

Sniffling, Michelangelo nodded. "Same for you."

Raphael pulled him into the tightest hug possible. "Don't tell Leo," he muttered, "but love ya more than anyone."

"I know Raph," and Mikey closed his eyes and smiled. "I know."


	11. Timing Is Everything In Telepathy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, okay, so there's a little sex in this one. I hadn't planned it. I had only planned on making them really good friends who get really really...really close.  
> Oh, well.

 

* * *

"A friend is someone who knows all about you and still loves you." ― Elbert Hubbard

"Don't walk in front of me… I may not follow. Don't walk behind me… I may not lead. Walk beside me… just be my friend."  
― Albert Camus

"Anyone who is observant, who discovers the person they have always dreamed of, knows that sexual energy comes into play before sex even takes place. The greatest pleasure isn't sex, but the passion with which it is practiced. When the passion is intense, then sex joins in to complete the dance, but it is never the principal aim." ― Paulo Coelho

"There is nothing better than a friend, unless it is a friend with chocolate."  
― Linda Grayson

"When someone loves you, the way they talk about you is different. You feel safe and comfortable."  
― Jess C. Scott

"Well, it seems to me that the best relationships - the ones that last - are frequently the ones that are rooted in friendship. You know, one day you look at the person and you see something more than you did the night before. Like a switch has been flicked somewhere. And the person who was just a friend is... suddenly the only person you can ever imagine yourself with." ― Gillian Anderson

"Promise me you'll always remember: You're braver than you believe, and stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think." ― A.A. Milne

* * *

She spent too long choosing the shirt. Teal or turquoise? Aqua or cyan? Royal blue or navy?

"Oh, are you serious?" When the knock came on her door she just smirked and hastily grabbed the teal tee shirt, the one made of the softest kitten-like cotton against her skin. She opened her door and Freya had her hands on her hips, staring down like judgment had a face.

"I dunno," Gaia murmured. "Maybe a mix of teal and lime green?"

"Gaia! You're not even dating him! Wait – are you?"

"No! We're friends. I could… I mean, aside from you and Rhea, I could call him my best friend but, you know."

"Oh, sweetie." Her sister's wife stroked her head, then lightly tweaked her pointed furred ear, just to hear that funny purring giggle. "Now come on. You're late for the makeup chair."

As they made their way to Freya's studio, Gaia said, "So, is it just me, or have you girls wondered why only my limbs have fur? It's like I'm wearing socks and gloves with retractable claws."

"I thought all the samples you gave to Rhea showed something?"

"They showed a lot of somethings."

"Buuut?"

Gaia made a vocal shrug.

"More reasons to test out that new concealer, then."

"Also, turquoise eyeliner and silver shadow!"

"Whatever makes you happy, darling. Hair up or down?"

"Down. Mikey said he wants to practice braiding."

"That's awesome. Boar brush, copper brush, bamboo wood brush, ox horn comb?"

"…yes?"

…"okay, I'll rotate."

One hour later, the sun was setting, and as if by clockwork, there was a quiet tap on the biggest living room window. Rhea, her hair held up with chopsticks and a smirk on her face, sashayed to the window, grinned her supermodel grin at the large mutant turtle, and slid open the window, offering her hand.

"What a gentleperson," Michelangelo said loftily, squeezing her hand in greeting, silently hopping down. "So, where's my brain twin?"

"The wife insisted on making her colorful," Rhea smiled. "Spin?" And as the Beethoven sonata in the background rose, Mikey gracefully raised his arm and she twirled, dipping all the way back into his plastron, which made them burst into giggles.

"Cough," Freya announced.

Mikey almost pushed Rhea aside in his excitement. "Oooh, tell her to bring a bag of hair stuff!"

"This is why I have a purse, baldie!" came Gaia's voice, and she stepped out from behind Freya, her gentle eye makeup done cat eye style, her lips lined and colored the shade of cranberries. Pale purple jeans, cowboy style boots with sneaker style soles, hair tucked behind her ears. She looked like a small elf.

Mikey made a "turn around" gesture. Gaia's low-rise jeans now had a clever V slit to allow her tail, which was swishing. "Neat!" he said. "Donnie and I looked up all kinds of braids. You should've seen Master Splinter's beard."

The three women laughed.

"Wait," Rhea said, going to the umbrella stand. "Are you taking a cane?"

"Probably not," Gaia said. "I have ninjas to hold on to."

Mikey just shrugged.

Freya looked at Rhea. "Um, are we giving them a curfew?"

"You didn't the first six times," Gaia said. Also, I'm nineteen."

"Just keep your phone on?" Rhea suggested.

"Duh, always. And yes, I have a portable charger."

Rhea muttered something in Japanese, then repeated it in Greek and Norwegian.

Gaia and Michelangelo stared.

"Did she just-"

"Sis, did you just-"

Rhea shrugged while Freya bent over howling.

Mikey and Gaia stared at each other, blushing.

"But we're not even…"

"But we won't even…"

"But we haven't even..."

Freya was almost screaming with laughter.

Rhea was laughing now, too. "Just go, just go. Stay safe. You have your travel medication, yes?"

"Yes, Rhea."

"Pajamas?"

"Yes, Rhea.

"Deodorant and moisturizers?"

"Yes, Rhea. In fact, that balm is good for turtle skin."

"Okay, okay, go, then!"

Gaia sighed and shot back "Silly family" in both Japanese and Greek. Then she hopped onto Michelangelo's carapace, locked her arms and legs around him, and waved goodbye as the sun vanished below the horizon.

* * *

When they arrived in the lair, pizza was already on the table, April was in the bean bag chair getting a shoulder massage from Leo, Raph and Casey were splayed on the couch watching a hockey game, Don was at the table with his laptop, and Splinter was in his armchair – his furry beard still braided. Gaia just grinned.

After the chorus of "Hi, Gaia!" she limped to the table and picked up a slice of mushroom and green pepper pizza. Before she found a chair, though, something gently tickled her mind and she felt her left leg turn inward at the knee, her feet slowly pronating. She sighed. "Oh, dear Mike-Mike, you cannot keep that up. That's my neurophysiology, not yours."

"But…but…twinsies?"

"Bum leg from stabbings doesn't actually count. That's acquired, not congenital."

"But helping?"

"Only temporarily."

At the pout on his face, she put her slice down and wrapped her arms around his neck, rubbing her feline nose against his terrapin beak. "I'm grateful. I am. But you can't fix the Born This Way stuff and you know it. Just call it amelioration."

"I like that word."

"I use it a lot. I don't even want kids and I wanna name a kid Amelia. Maybe I'll write a book with such a character, make her psionic and disabled."

"Can I draw the cover?"

"My only choice."

"Yays!"

They forced Raphael and Casey to scooch over. Mikey picked up one controller and switched to the gaming console. Raph grabbed the other controller. They let Gaia choose the game, since she couldn't play physically but loved watching. She picked "Borderlands 2".

"You know," Donnie called over, "I could try making a controller just for you, if you want."

"Sweet," Gaia said. "I don't care if I lose every time, even."

"Leo's the only one who'd go easy on ya anyway," Raph grunted.

"Hey!" Leo barked.

* * *

It was hours later, as everyone prepared for bed. As April and Casey left the lair, they kept nudging each other and staring at Gaia and Michelangelo. Gaia did her best to roll her eyes in exaggeration each time, but it didn't stop the fluttering in her belly. Mikey and Gaia went to his room, where she sat on his bed and dumped her duffel bag on the floor in the same spot she usually did. Mike unzipped it and quickly found a brush and hair ties.

His ministrations toward her scalp hair, ears, shoulders, and back had her melting with a soft, high purr. After her hair was successfully pulled into a French braid, Mikey rested his hand between her shoulders and asked, "So where does your purring come from, anyway?"

Turning around, she tapped the lower part of her throat, tilting her head all the way back. He pressed a finger there and squeaked at the vibration. He brought his head down and pressed his ear slit to her neck, a gesture that widened her eyes and made her heart pound. Her purr changed in vibrancy. "That. Is. So. Cool." Mike was whispering, as though not to disturb her throat. "Can you talk?"

She lowered her chin to the top of his head. "I can totally talk. Totally." And the purr accented her low vocals, and the telepathy between them made her realize that her turtle was blushing. Wait. What?

Mike had the same thought, because as her head snapped up, he pulled back quickly, and he stared at her. She drowned in those baby blue azure eyes. Oh gods, she could drown forever.

They had been hanging out for three whole months. She confided in him and Ice Cream Kitty. Leonardo had tried to show her basic katas. They read comics together. She watched him play all his video games and listened without interruptions when he babbled about random things. She watched Donnie work in his lab, watched Splinter prepare different tea blends. She spent hours in Mikey's room, applauding his magic tricks, demonstrating her own mutation, crawling along his walls, writing poetry and short stories to go along with his art. They created a comic together. They made his action figures and her plush toys dance in the air. He soothed her seizures and she soothed his. They thought at each other inside and out, it was like being born knowing each other.

This was the first time _this_ had happened.

Her purr took on a very low, very deep resonance. Suddenly, from deep in his throat, he churred.

She didn't think. She leaned forward, closed her eyes, and kissed him.

His mouth was astonishingly soft, and melted into hers.

It lasted maybe five seconds, and they pulled apart, gasping.

 _What was that?_ in unison.

_Is…is it okay?_

_Are…are you okay?_

_Are you?_

_Is this good?_

_What happens now?_

_Should anything happen now?_

He closed his hands around her upper arms, gently gently slowly softly. _Anything?_

She reached up and cupped his face in her hands. _Everything?_

As the kiss danced and lengthened, he fell back on the bed and she shifted against him, and something else shifted and then they didn't talk anymore, but they thought at each other, they thought everything at each other, whispering like secrets in shadows, and energy built and crackled, and a door shut and locked on its own, and everything was silent save for the rustling of clothing and bedsheets and the breaths of small whimpers and purrs. Soon, senses overwhelmed, and she let out a mewling sound, and reflexively his hand pressed into the slender dipping feline curve of her lower back, and when she unintentionally unsheathed her claws, he welcomed it with a breathless giggle. When she adjusted her hips just so, the gasp from his throat sent a chill along her spine. The way he growled made her growl back, and his strength was beautiful, the gentle way he held her as though she would never fall in her life again. And then it was all a single rocking, rhythmic wave, almost a pure dance.

* * *

When she slowly woke and opened her eyes, she could sense early morning, somehow. She stretched, and purred, and then sore muscles struck and she mumbled "Ow" because it always happened.

The body curved around her flinched and twitched, and as she turned her head she was momentarily lost in a pair of shining blue topaz eyes, and then he smiled, and it was That Smile, and she found herself grinning.

"You hurting?" he asked gently.

"I always hurt," she responded. "How's your leg?"

"Sore and stiff," he admitted.

"I could massage it," she offered.

"I'd like that."

As Gaia went to work on his quadriceps, hamstrings, knee, and hip, she cleared her throat. "So. G-good?"

She was a little surprised when he laughed throatily. "Awww, Kitten. Awesome. Though I may have to explain the claw marks."

"We were…wrestling? Again?"

"They'll be able to smell it as much as you can."

"Oh, right." And her nostrils flared, taking in the sweet, tangy, almost bittersweet chocolate afterglow. She wanted to bury her nose in his leg, but she concentrated on physical therapy; as she lifted and stretched his left leg, she tried not to think about his tail or cloaca or how oddly similar his plastron scutes felt to her own fingernails, keratin brushing against keratin, shudders between them, chemistry between them swirling like electricity.

Michelangelo cleared his throat. She suddenly got a very clear image of her own thighs and the way the muscles held taut as hands pushed her legs into a butterfly pose and then—

Her face and throat burned. "Fair enough."

She finished the massage. He stretched, smiling. "Now it's your turn," he smirked.

They switched, and he held her left leg like a precious thing, and she felt how he held back all that physical power just to make sure he didn't hurt her, and for the first time since she was ten years old, physical therapy didn't hurt.

They got up and grinned at each other, bursting into gigles. But they didn't look at each other's eyes while wiping themselves down and getting dressed, because their dual smiles were too big and too cheeky, and another "wrestling match" was a floating thought.

Interestingly, they were the first at the kitchen table. Gaia watched Mikey make scrambled eggs, toast, bacon, blueberry muffins, and coconut water with pineapple juice while she made coffee with cocoa and cinnamon and milk. As the others gathered around, Mikey finished up Splinter's tea and toast, and Gaia sweetened Donatello's coffee just in time to telekinetically deliver it to his outstretched hand.

Splinter inhaled. "The tea smells lovely, Michelangelo." And he paused and caught both their eyes very deliberately. Gaia bit her lip a lot. "And Gaia," Splinter added slowly, "Donatello's coffee smells quite tasty."

Donnie nodded, oblivious to the innuendos. "Cinnamon, very nice! Gaia, you make strong coffee. Mikey, make yourself a cup, please, then I need to gather the data for our ADHD project."

No one else said a word as they ate, but Gaia caught Raph flaring his nostrils and narrowing his eyes every now and then. He would look at her with a look she knew very well from having older siblings. She smiled at him, eyes hooded.

Mikey was sitting next to her, drinking his own coffee prepared the same way and looking extremely satisfied. And they still did not look at each other's shining eyes, because they knew too much now. But the smiles on their faces and the workings in their psionic minds made the kitchen feel just a little brighter.


	12. And The Accelerated Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's nothing like, say, X-Men, or Heroes. It's going to be as basic and minor as I can make it, since a psionic's ability to heal himself usually comes at the cost of his stamina, etc. Nobody said having cool powers was free of side effects! Plus, here's the first indication of something else Mikey will need to deal with chronically.

"No," Mikey whispered. "I can't do that."

"You've done it before, you know," and April's hands in his were warm and velvety and small and so gentle.

"Those were…emergencies. I was forced to think too fast. There was blood. And…and we had to escape." His soft tenor rasp, with its rounded vowels and slight rising inflection, suddenly took on an edge that worried her.

"This is an emergency! A huge one!"

Beside them, Casey groaned, trying to sit up, and April turned to him, bending over his face. "Casey, you okay?"

"Ngh. I think so. Why's…is my leg broken?"

"You crashed doing a flip, dude," Mike told him, holding up Casey's broken skateboard.

"Oh, man, I love that board!" And Casey's voice was rough with exhaustion and pain. "Should prolly get to a hospital, right?"

"The problem is," April said, "is that your leg is so broken that if we don't fix it now, you'll have permanent damage. The ambulance won't come fast enough."

Casey stared at her, then at Michelangelo. "Hey, wait! Didn't you heal Leo? And Raph?"

Mikey opened his mouth to protest, but the slow agony in the boy's eyes, and the hope, finally spilled over and his empathic senses flooded. "'Kay, I'm gonna try to mend the bones. There's a bunch of little breaks and some big breaks, though…"

"But, you can fix it, right?" Oh, he wished Casey didn't sound so hopeful like that.

Mikey bit his lip and plastered on a big smile. "Do my best, dude!"

April glanced at him in relief.

He put both hands on Casey's bent and twisted right leg, one above the knee and one below. He could already feel the way the smaller bones floated, the way the nerves tingled, and knew that no ambulance medic would be able to do this. And this was his brother's best friend. Hell, this was _his_ brother.

Closing his eyes, Michelangelo let his head drop down as the power sparked and the energy flowed immediately; he rarely had to pull at it lately. Touch a wound and the energy was there, waiting, needing only a conduit. That odd blue electromagnetic force crawled over his skin; he knew that to the others it looked like a glowing aura. He directed it down his arms, through his hands—

-Into the dermal layers, into the tissue, into the muscle, down to the bones. He grabbed as many smaller bones as he could, sharp edges and sheared ends, and the energy knew what to do, and so he turned his focus to the bigger breaks, the separations, the cracks, the fractures. There was so much damage. Blood cells rushed and gathered and swirled. He was pulled down and down, holding and holding while the power went to work, merging with cells and nerves to pull bone fragments together, bit by bit and shard by shard and edge by edge, and he was getting tired, but he couldn't leave, he needed to supply and maintain, and he pushed telepathy into it, the way he'd learned from their alien friend Sirra, encouraging the central nervous system to spark, encouraging the body's own release of neurotransmitters and chemicals. He stayed after the tiniest bit of bone was back in place, but as he watched the larger bones knit slowly so slowly, he felt the universe shudder and shake and he struggled to pull away…

And his own electricity burst into blue-white-purple and it was all he could see, and he was falling…

"-ily, I nev…wanted…all the way…"

"-ot your…fault, Casey…-ew what…was doing."

"…sure he'll be okay?"

Like static and sound, the voices and words slowly cleared until he was floating closer upward to what felt like a ceiling. Beyond it, the voices and words grew stronger.

"We didn't even need an ambulance! I mean, it was totally, totally insane! Little dude fixed up my leg like…wham!"

"I wouldn't say fixed up, Casey, and you really should go to a hospital just in case. I'm not a doctor, I keep telling everyone that."

Oh, Donnie sounded exhausted.

The grayness of the ceiling felt soft and comfortable, and Michelangelo was exhausted himself, and he settled back down, deeper into cotton-like whiteness.

He supposed time went by. When he was able to listen again, it was only his brothers and father. Feebly, he pushed at the ceiling and found it pliable, more like a quilt than hard material. He pushed and his fingers tore through, revealing a summer blue sky, the color of his eyes.

Michelangelo smiled.

He found his sense of physicality quickly, and made a humming sound deep in his throat.

Sounds ceased. Both his hands were being held, and another hand was on his forehead. He pushed that gray ceiling open even wider, tearing like paper, more blue glistening.

"Come on," he heard Leonardo, "time to wake up, bro."

He managed to open his eyes to a full body ache, a feeling of shattered joints and scattered muscle burning. He grunted.

He guessed his brothers knew what noises meant, because Donatello, gripping his other hand, said, "You've been unconscious for just over a day. April made Casey go to the hospital. He's got a leg brace now. You worked so hard you seized a few times in a row, terrified those two. But Casey's gonna be fine."

Mikey smiled and hummed again. Oh gods, he hurt all over. What the hell?

Splinter stroked his forehead and cheek again, and looked into his eyes, and Mikey found an alarming sadness there. His own eyes widened. Uh oh. Now his telepathy was flaring, seeking, but he'd made it stay down enough to never go into his family's underthoughts without permission. He felt himself starting to scan surface thoughts and pulled back. No, he wanted them to tell him.

Donnie must have sensed it, through their link. He ran a hand over his face and sighed. "Okay," he muttered. "So…remember when you were recovering from the big coma and we had you in physical therapy? And I was worried that you'd develop fibromyalgia?"

Michelangelo found his throat, let out a weak cough, and said, "Donnie…"

His brother just looked at him with such a helpless, tired stare that Michelangelo tried to reach out and hug him, realized he couldn't really move, and also realized that the telekinesis was doing it for him. Don stiffened as Mike wrapped invisible arms around him. Mikey quickly let go. He cleared his throat and whispered, "Hey, I can live with chronic pain and fatigue, y'know."

Donatello blinked, and his family all just stared at him.

"Uh," Raph said, "you know it's more than that, yeah?"

"Well, yeah, duh." Mikey smiled. "But if you guys haven't noticed, the psionics have gotten a lot stronger and also a lot more stable. So even with an invisible chronic illness I think I'll manage."

Leonardo was frowning. "What about on patrols, Mikey? What if you become fatigued?"

"Mike shrugged. "Again, that's what the psionics are for."

Raphael sounded angrier than usual. "It was the psionics that did this in the first place!"

"Heh. Yeah. Brain injuries are so weird." He hadn't intended to say it like that, but when they all froze, he realized that perhaps referring to psionics as a brain injury was not quite the best tactic. But it was the closest analogy he could come up with.

His life had already changed forever, what was a few more rattling changes? That was what ninjitsu was about, after all. Adjusting to changes and using that adjustment as a weapon. Besides, there were plenty of legends of shinobi and great masters who were able to concentrate their own pain outward, into an enemy. He could train with Splinter and Leo, he could work with it.

"Bros, relax," he said, and coughed again. "Seriously. I swear I will make this work. After all, it's not like I lost an arm or something."

And Donnie cupped his face and brought their foreheads together. "Gods, you had better not. Sometimes I have nightmares!"

Michelangelo smiled a happy, if weak, genuine grin. "Just get online and help me look up fibromyalgia treatments. I'll take tea and vitamins every day. I'll take even more therapy if I have to. Just promise you won't get too sad and mushy."

Donatello smiled back. "Right now, Mikey, I reserve the right to feel as sad and mushy as I want, and you're going to put up with it until I say you're free to leave the infirmary."

"I'm super totally okay with that, then."

Leo brought an electrolyte drink, and Raphael brought comic books, and Splinter brewed a special tea for pain relief and muscle relaxation, and Mikey made a promise to use his healing energy wisely. And when Michelangelo fell asleep again, he was faintly aware of beds and cots being pushed against his bed, and then his brothers were pressed against him, arms wrapping around him, and he felt his father kiss his forehead, and as he sunk into thick cotton-soft sleep he felt his own power rush through him like a cool breeze, soothing his very own sore muscles and screaming nerves as best it could for its own sake, and Mikey told his newborn personal telekinetic healing factor that that was just fine.


	13. The Shield And The Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This? This is one of my favorite short stories I've ever written. It just is. I don't have siblings, but the Raph/Mikey relationship gives me some good clues.

* * *

"I would rather walk with a friend in the dark, than alone in the light." —Helen Keller

"Friendship is the hardest thing in the world to explain. It's not something you learn in school. But if you haven't learned the meaning of friendship, you really haven't learned anything." ―Muhammad Ali

* * *

"No," Raphael was gasping, his voice rising in both inflection and volume, and his eyes glazed over and he didn't care about the gush of blood over his hands and his chest, and "No no no no no" until his throat was cracked and burning, and he could feel the city that was him falling into volcanic fire, and the blood-soaked body he was hugging in his bruised arms was so small and so limp and so silent and the only thought galloping through his head was "If you can hear me, use that healing force thing, whatever it is, use me, use our bond, grab onto my mind, just stay alive, stay alive, stay alive because I need to say I'm sorry I need to tell you I'm so sorry I called you a stupid brainless idiot, because it's wrong and you're not, you never were and you need to know that, and gods, Mikey, we're stuck and we're alone and I don't know what to do and just please please please little brother just stay alive, I need you, Mikey…"

And he forgot he was saying it out loud until the shadows in the rubble behind him began to laugh again, but he was too tired to face them again, he was too tired to grab his bloodied weapons and also it meant letting go of his brother's body. So he growled and snarled and hissed and roared and hoped that his sounds would keep them back until his family could arrive because he pressed the T-Phone's panic button he couldn't remember how long ago, and now he couldn't even remember where his phone was but his brother's phone was still in his belt, so Raphael pulled it out with blood-slicked fingers from that blood-stained belt with blood running like wet paint and he pushed the panic button again and then he pushed speed dial for both his other brothers' numbers, and he felt cold and empty and he was shivering and Don would say it was shock.

And the sounds of living nightmares faded but eyes were still watching, and he knew it was all the blood. He feverishly wondered if he could press one of his open wounds to one of Michelangelo's wounds and activate Mikey's telekinesis so somehow he could transfuse his blood but he didn't think it would work and it sounded too strange anyway, and stop thinking so much, Raph, just listen, listen to his breathing! Memories struck him like weapons, not stopping, and he sobbed into his brother's neck, because there was so much blood back then, too, maybe not quite like this, but it froze him and ripped him down and he was nothing, he was nothing without someone to protect, and please Mikey just keep breathing…

And his brother was too silent. His plastron had been crushed, and blood seeped up through the cracks in the scutes, and Raphael had immediately thought that was it, it was over, Michelangelo was dying for real, nothing was going to bring him back this time. And his very soul had started to go dim, because his baby brother, who was his light, was going to die very soon, and all he could do was watch to see how long it would take for his littlest brother to just die completely, for that light to disappear forever.

And then a surge of familiar electricity crackled. And then, very very very slowly, the blood in all of Michelangelo's wounds began to clot just enough, and the cracks in Mikey's plastron began to seal just enough, and the scutes had shifted and reconnected just enough, everything just barely enough as though the telekinesis itself was too tired, and so now it was massive bloody bruising and still broken ribs because bone was hard work, and Raphael nearly lost his mind because Mikey was still alive, and still breathing, and because Raph had felt a massive telepathic pull and insistent telepathic tug deep in his own mind, and he had a bizarre sense that he was _helping_ , that Mikey had found him psychically and sought him to _help_ through their telepathic link, and in that moment Raphael cried and laughed because Mikey asked for _him_ for _help_ and he was going to stay _alive_ because of _him_ and he didn't care that his own left leg was still trapped until rocks and brick, or that his arms were covered in cuts or that his head pounded fiercely; he pulled his baby brother closer into his lap and rested their foreheads together and rocked back and forth, and his head really hurt and his leg really hurt and he wanted to sleep but knew he never could.

His dying baby brother sucked in an involuntary rasp and sighed stutteringly, the only signs of life, and blood bubbled on his lips and he choked a little, so Raph grabbed one of the scraps of cloth lying around and wiped Mikey's mouth and face lovingly. He wiped away the sweat and the tears and the dirt, just to make sure the freckles were there and accounted for. He wasn't even sure how conscious Mikey was. Maybe his subconscious and underconscious were the only things alert and happening enough to push the psionics to work. Maybe the psionics had just shut him down so the power could go to work. Because Mikey was supposed to be dead. His legs were broken. His right hand was broken. His skull was fractured and there was an open wound on his right temple. There were slices along his carapace. The old disabling scar on his left thigh had torn opened and blood was leaking from it through the wrappings Raph and found. The old claw mark scars on his right side had ripped open. The building hadn't been very tall or big but its collapse had been massive, and luckily there had been sheets and canvas and chamois and tarps surrounding them.

Raphael quietly realized that his leg, stuck under all the rubble, was broken in at least two places, that his shell was battered and cracked, that he had a concussion, that he had been strangled and wore a necklace of bruises and claw marks. The shadows had stopped laughing, and the eyes blinking all around them had disappeared. Were they gone, the shadow gremlins? They had to be, retreated back to that tear in the world. They could return soon. He didn't care. It felt as if a dimensional portal opened once a month now. He would take on a hundred shadow gremlins as long as Michelangelo kept being alive.

Shouting. Screaming. Sobs sounding like calls for him and Mike. Gradually through the dust, he made out several figures walking toward them. His brothers. April. Casey. Leatherhead.

"Heey," he breathed hoarsely, when they were close enough. "Finally... got here."

Donatello fell to his knees right in front, so close Raph could have touched his face if he weren't clutching Mikey to his breathless chest so hard. Don was desperately pale. "Raph," he gasped, "give him to me."

And Raph was shaking his head. "He's staying alive, he's breathing, he healed some of the wounds, he sealed himself up, I felt him grab me with telepathy, and I helped him, he helped me help him," and he knew he was babbling but he needed to make it _real_. He needed them to _know_.

Weight was lifted from his leg and he snarled in pain. Leo and Casey were digging him out. Casey's whole face twisted and paled when he saw the leg.

"Raph," Don was saying, as though underwater, "I need to look at Michelangelo. Please. Let him go."

Hands on his shoulders, hands on his arms, gentle gentle hands easing the body from his lap and he let out a strangled moan, and then arms were wrapped around his shoulders from behind and April's voice was in his ear, murmuring soothing words, and April's mind was in his mind, soothing _him_ , and he shook and shook and whimpered his brother's name, and Donnie was saying "Wow. Oh god. Somehow, he's going to live, but it won't be easy. Leatherhead, can you…"

And Leatherhead, saying "Of course. Anything. Anything for my young friend." Blearily, Raphael watched the giant alligator pick up Michelangelo's body as if it were a doll, cradled easily in his huge paws, supported head to toe, and Leatherhead was murmuring, "It will be all right, my Little One. I've got you. Your family will take care of you."

And then Donnie's hands were touching him, stroking his limbs and head, and Donnie was talking, something about severe concussion, cracked shell, broken leg, contusions, lacerations, dust in the lungs; and Raph just closed his eyes because it hurt so much and because Mikey was safe and because the cavalry was here and because he had been the shield, he was still the protector, and he was dizzy and tired, and it was going to be okay, because he was still the shield.

* * *

In the infirmary, one week later, a groggy Raphael was staring at the tubes and needles in his arms, the bandages and cast on his leg, the bandages on his hands and arms from where he'd protected Mikey from falling pieces of building. Mikey had put up a force field, but something had gone wrong. One of the shadow monsters got through. It ripped real claws into Mikey, it ripped down the force field, it threw them both hard, and debris fell down and crushed Mikey and trapped Raph, and his rage had exploded him free and he managed to kill some of them, and he managed to tend to Mikey, as more rocks and more bricks fell, and Mike's unconscious form was being shattered and Raph flinched at each snap of bone in legs and hand and then it was his _head_ and a rock and then a brick hit Mikey in the _head_ and his _head_ started bleeding, and Raphael had recalled a discussion between Donatello and Leatherhead about open head wounds actually keeping cranial swelling down, and all he could do was grab cloth and chamois cloths and canvas cloths and bits of tarp, and he sat and pulled Mikey onto his lap just as the rocks buried his left leg, and he pressed cloths to the wounds and he tried to clean the wounds with a nearby metal bottle of water, and then his only desperate last hope was to reach Mikey's psychic mind and beg him to start that weird self-healing thing because he _was dying_ and it would be any moment.

Now, he looked over at the big bed, where Michelangelo lay wrapped and covered in bandages and IVs everywhere, and a slender Endotracheal tube and a Gastroenteric tube and a right lung intubation tube; and the monitors showed a weak but stable heartbeat, and the monitor linked to the headband showed weak but stable brain activity. And there was absolute confirmation that he wasn't waking up soon. And Raph blinked and saw the infirmary of The Fugitoid's ship, but the rage and anger and fear were not there. He felt empty, and calm.

Leo had been worried about Raph having PTSD flashbacks to Mikey's coma on the spaceship, and had suggested a sedative, and Raph had placidly agreed, which worried Leo even more, but it didn't even matter. Mikey was alive, that was what mattered. The coma barely mattered, even. It could be a month. It could be another three months like the first time. Raphael would be here. Once he was better, Raph would be the nurse again, he would be the physical therapist again, he would be the protector and the shield again. He had saved his brother's life. Nothing else mattered. He was the shield.

Raphael left the infirmary after one month, grudgingly using a forearm crutch, and began therapy and then katas. He went back into the infirmary every day, bringing the usual things, the bucket of water and the washing mitt and sponges, the cloths and towels, the ice chips, the moisturizing balms (Mikey loved coconut oil, cocoa butter, and tamanu nut oil because to him it smelled like dessert, so April found a huge jar of body butter with those ingredients that advertised scar smoothing and hydration). So with Leo's help, Raph would carefully apply salve to the unbroken skin and the older scars, gently on his mouth that was starting to crack around the tube down his throat. Eventually Don would have him under an oxygen mask once they removed the lung intubation tube, but turtles needed water and moisture as much as possible, and Leo was the one who suggested using the lotion immediately after washing him, to keep him as hydrated as they could. The tamanu oil smelled like butter pecan ice cream, and blended with the coconut and cocoa, it really did smell like a sweet treat, and Raph tried to joke that Mikey might try to eat it if he were awake. Once, while changing the bandages around the head wound, Raph noticed that the scar had already tightened, so he rubbed the salve in and wondered if Mikey could smell it, wherever he was in his mind.

The only monitor that ever responded was the EEG and it showed a deep coma, but Raph still talked about life in the lair, still massaged, still bathed, still read books and relayed episodes of television shows.

Twice a week, they left Splinter alone with Michelangelo, as he brought in Japanese books to read, as he needed time with his littlest child, and sometimes they heard him crying and pleading.

After two more months, the tube was replaced with the mask. The EEG started showing random responses, so Leo brought in Mikey's T-Pod and they placed the ear buds in and at first chose instrumental EDM songs with strong bass beats. Indeed, according to the machines, Mike's brain began listening, and so Raph began singing along when he switched to hard rock songs. One song he played over and over, "Remember Every Scar" by a band called Escape The Fate, suited his own mood best. He played that interspersed with Disturbed, particularly "Indestructible" "Inside The Fire" and "Sound Of Silence" and "The Light" and "The Vengeful One" and "Land Of Confusion". He remembered when he and Mikey would play Guitar Hero and Rock Band and they'd sing duets on songs by Sick Puppies and Pop Evil together, because Raph's raspy angry-snapping baritone mixed with Mike's raspy cheery rounded tenor seemed to blend well and they always got high scores.

And so now he held Mikey's hand against his mouth and sang quietly, his voiced scratchy, _"_ _Life can turn you upside down_ _._ _Chew you up and spit you out._ _Tear you up, it never ends. It goes on and on and on and on. Hold on to that heartbreak. Hold on to that hell you have to pay. All the tragedies make you who you are. Remember every scar."_

He didn't expect any kind of response, but the EEG jumped a little, and in his head, deep in his mind, soft and hoarse and raspy, Michelangelo's telepathic voice said, _Thanks, big bro. That goes for you too, y'know._

And Raph laughed long and hard in his mind, and switched to Disturbed's "Down With The Sickness" which Mikey telepathically joined in for, expertly howling the chorus and making Raphael laugh again. And when Mike casually switched to "Fire It Up" with a mental giggle, Raph nearly fell off his chair in tears.

* * *

Another two months after that, after daily chats telepathically, after helping his brother find his way back toward the start of winding labyrinth that would lead to consciousness, after helping Donnie with the physical actions of doctoring and replacing mask with cannulas, after helping Leo with the physical actions of therapy, after helping Splinter with the spiritual aspects of meditation... Raphael finally stood psychically hand in hand with his baby brother, in the middle of the maze of unconsciousness, staring up at the stormclouds.

Mikey looked at him, that bright sunny grin on his face. "This'll be fun!"

Raph flashed him a toothy, almost predatory, return grin. "Let's do it, kid!"

And they raced through that labyrinth, and Raphael beat down any obstacles and monsters and fears that rushed to grab at Mike, and time meant nothing, and then suddenly the end of the labyrinth was in sight, and they grabbed hands again and cheered and ran forward charging heads down, and it was blue like summer skies, blue like the color of his eyes, and Mikey squeezed Raph's hand so hard…

And Raph's eyes flew open and he gasped, squeezing back. And Mikey's eyes were wide open and he was smiling at him, and Mikey spoke, hoarse and harsh after four months gone, and he said, "We did it, Raphie. Thanks for saving me."

Raphael trembled and swallowed his tears and there was heat in his eyes. "Always, Mikey."

And because Mikey was too weak to lift his arms, Raph lifted them for him and draped them around his own shoulders, and he lifted up his torso to cradle against his own chest, and Mikey clung to his neck and Raph nuzzled his beak just to hear him giggle.

"I'm your shield, lil bro," Raph said. "And you're my light."

And he was rewarded with a happy sigh and a whispered, "Love you too, big bro."

And they stayed that way for a good five minutes, before Raph decided to yell out to the lair that Michelangelo was finally awake and everything would be okay again.

* * *

"I woke up one morning thinking about wolves and realized that wolf packs function as families. Everyone has a role, and if you act within the parameters of your role, the whole pack succeeds, and when that falls apart, so does the pack." -Jodi Picoult

"A family is a risky venture, because the greater the love, the greater the loss... That's the trade-off. But I'll take it all." -Brad Pitt

"A friend is one that knows you as you are, understands where you have been, accepts what you have become, and still, gently allows you to grow." ―William Shakespeare


	14. Vibrations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone has to take care of Leo when he insists he's fine, right?

Sometimes he would forget that tea, training, and meditating could not be the way to heal everything. No matter how much honey was used.

He coughed very quietly into the latest tissue, but it wasn't quiet enough. His bedroom door nudged open and his most agile, slippery brother slid through like a shadow.

"Hey," Michelangelo chirped. "Rhea says that eucalyptus and peppermint chest rubs can help. So guess who's getting a cool rubdown!"

Leonardo sighed and lay back against the pillows, smiling. No point in scowling anyway.

Mike approached him with a jar of sticky salve and sat literally on his lap, grinning. "Chin up, bro. This needs to go on the throat, too."

Leo just smiled and watched thick green fingers dig into the strong-scented balm. He didn't even flinch as Mikey slowly rubbed the balm in wide circles into his upper plastron, the skin above, the neck, the throat, under the chin. Already, the vapors were soothing his throat and nose.

Unexpectedly, Mikey tapped Leo's beak and thoroughly massaged, and Leo automatically took a huge breath. This time when he coughed, things felt ready to break apart in his chest.

"Awesome, it's working!" Mikey cheered. "Now, both Donnie and Rhea said I shouldn't, but you're our leader and we need you up and well, so I'm gonna do it anyway." He placed one hand flat against Leo's throat and the other against his plastron.

"Ohh, no," and Leo grabbed both wrists. "I forbid a healing, Mikey. Especially this. It's just a cold, it's not an open wound or a bone break."

"Nah, nah, bro, it's fine. Look, I talked it out with Neural Mike. There's a way I can shield myself from channeling the, you know, the thing…into me. I don't have to take anything in, I just push it out, poof, like breathing!"

Leo put on his best Older Brother face. "No."

"Yes."

"No, Mikey."

"You wanna spend another week stuck like this, dude?"

"..."

"Thought so."

"Fine, but can you at least bring April or Gaia down before you do it?"

Mikey's head tilted with honest curiosity. "Why?"

Leo raised an eyeridge. "So you don't get sick or badly affected? So you don't, oh, have a seizure or a three-day migraine?"

"Hah! Leo, I'm hurt you would assume such a thing. I can handle this on my own."

Coughing, Leonardo pushed himself upright and gave a Leader Stare. "Mikey. It's been merely one month since you came out of a four-month coma due to a falling building, in which you were essentially crushed, broken, skull-fractured, brought to the edge of death, and came this close to permanent brain damage. I'd feel so much better if you had backup."

Michelangelo said nothing, just blinked at him. Leonardo took that opportunity to look him over. A thick red scar decorated the right side of his head, with dozens more red scars adorning his upper plastron. Sometimes his eyes would become glassy right before he was about to perform a complex task, as though his brain had to first remember how to command his body. Sometimes, the muscles on his left side would have odd spasms. Donatello had mentioned how the right hemisphere controlled the left side of the body; Leo already suspected something, especially after a gentle kata session with Gaia, when she'd explained that lack of oxygen during a preterm birth and scarring injuries to her right brain hemisphere had caused the cerebral palsy on her left side. Rhea had told them that physiologically, they were more hominid than chelonian, and it was possible that Michelangelo had developed a mild case of dyspraxia, which had caused Donnie to have an anxiety attack right in Rhea's private office, but luckily Rhea was a veterinary tech and also had very comfortable chairs.

Mikey either didn't notice or didn't care. Somehow, the psionics were already compensating. And Leo wanted to yell at him, to force a meditation session and dive into his head, see all the true genuine damage, confront Neural Mike until the subconscious personality screamed at him.

Michelangelo was one of the best ninja he knew, once his focus and discipline were proper. But with brain injuries, with neurological damage like epilepsy and fibromyalgia, it might be…different. Not necessarily enough to stop Mikey's ninjitsu, but possibly just enough to…to slow him down, just a little.

Except he was already and still the fastest, most agile, most acrobatic, most athletic…

Leonardo blinked, watched his little brother draw in a huge, over-dramatic sigh. "Fine, I'll call Gaia. But while we wait I'm gonna make you soup."

"Deal." And Leonardo settled back and massaged his chest and neck, enjoying the satisfying smells of mint, enjoying his sinuses openings slowly again. He closed his eyes and wondered if those mantras would work.

Time must have passed, because he felt a humanoid cat paw on his forehead, an arm across his upper plastron, and a deep, low-register purr thrumming through his body. When he opened his eyes, he found Gaia curled up directly against him, her black hair draped over his arm like a scarf, her unique body heat flowing into him, and the specific cadence of her purr making him feel abruptly better.

"Cats are really good at that," she smiled against his shoulder. He smiled back. Mikey was, again, sitting on his lap, grinning. He was holding a bowl of tomato soup with herbs and spices that Leo couldn't quite place. "Om nom, yo," he said, lifting the spoon.

"I can feed myself," Leo griped. Gaia sat up and edged off the bed, grinning.

Mikey shrugged and stood up, and Leo again adjusted himself to a sitting position and held out his hands. The bowl was warm, the spoon had a good weight, the soup was extraordinarily tasty, and Leo had finished it all before he knew it. Gaia took the bowl and left his room.

Mikey sat at the edge of the bed, crossing his arms. "Did ya know that a cat can purr at frequencies that can heal muscles and bruises and illnesses and even broken bones?"

"I did know that, yes," Leo said, concentrating on the warmth spreading through his belly.

"She really likes doing it after we-"

"I know, Mikey, sometimes I hear it when walking past your room."

Michelangelo's eyes widened. "Really?"

Leonardo winked. "You're not that loud. But I can feel the vibrations."

"Ah. And here I thought you were jealous."

"Oh, I'm happy my little brother is getting sexy times." Leo grinned and coughed. "Just didn't think it'd be so soon."

"What can I say. Feels like we've known each other for years. Telepathy is funny like that."

When Gaia returned, it was with a bottle of water, a washcloth, a bowl of warm water, and an empty bowl. Leonardo looked at the empty bowl in confusion but when he felt himself cough harshly and wetly, she put the bowl under his chin and told him to spit. She then gave him the water to swish and spit again.

"So," she looked between the two, "are we healing?" Mike nodded with enthusiasm, Leo nodded with reluctance.

She placed everything on the table by the bed, gently wiped Leo's face and neck with the damp warm cloth, then curled up with him, draping her torso across his, purring as hard as she could. Grasping his bicep, she very gently began to knead, and Leo couldn't help but notice that she had clipped her claws. Her other arm was under his neck. The hooded glance she gave him was somewhere between friendly and seductive. Apparently, Mikey was completely fine with this, because he rubbed his hands together, grinning widely, and said, "Okay, Gaia, you nuzzle, I press!"

The warmth of Gaia's body and the familiarity of Mike's hands instantly relaxed him. He leaned back, watching his little brother intently. Mikey had both palms pressed hard against his abdomen, where the bottoms of his lungs were. Electricity softly cracked around Mikey's hands. Gaia giggled in the middle of her purr; the vibration was interesting.

Leonardo watched, fascinated, as his baby brother's summer blue eyes clouded over and at the same time became glassy. His entire body went incredibly still for several seconds, and then, as the bizarre electromagnetic blue and purple light appeared on his skin, he started to sway just the tiniest bit. Gaia turned her head to watch, her kneading on his arm and neck increasing.

Leo felt the irritating phlegm and heat in his lungs begin to move upward. He coughed with his mouth closed. Gaia lifted her head, smiled at him, then sat up, still purring, hand still on his neck, and massaged his throat. Her hand was incredibly silky, her fingertips exactly like the pads of a feline paw.

Leo grabbed the bowl and spit again, noticing how thin his phlegm was. In fact, it felt as though it was beginning to dissolve in his chest. He looked at Mikey. Those blue eyes were nearly gray, extremely shiny, and sweat covered his face.

Seeing the alarmed look on Leo's face, Gaia grabbed the wet cloth, wrung it out, and wiped Mikey's face; Mikey didn't move or blink. And Leonardo felt the heat, the thickness, the dampness, the rawness in his body start to fade, like a parting mist. He drew in a deep breath. There was no wheeze or rattle.

He widened his eyes, and watched as Gaia cupped Mikey's face in her hands, pressed her nose to his beak, and whisper something. He watched as her feline hands caressed his face, then his neck, then the back of his neck. And when Michelangelo began trembling with myoclonic jerks, Leo sprung up and sat up straight, instinctively reaching out the way he would when they were children.

He knew he shouldn't feel jealous, he knew he should have felt relief, as Gaia settled herself so she was sitting on her heels, pressing her lips to Mikey's forehead, purring in a register Leo could barely hear. But his eye twitched, and then Gaia's eyes slid to his, soft and friendly, and she smiled and tilted her head just a little, and he scooted over and rubbed his brother's arm and held his hand, and when Michelangelo woke up he smiled brilliantly because he was surrounded by two people he really loved.

Half an hour later, the three of them sat on Leo's bed, as Leo enjoyed a bowl of ramen, Gaia and Mikey shared a bowl of chocolate ice cream, and Raph and Don sat in chairs next to the bed. Don kept listening to Leo's breathing and glancing at Mike's face. Mikey, his head in Gaia's lap, merely smiled, a little tiredly. His eyes were bright and glimmering, and he looked very proud of himself.

Leonardo decided that the next time he sat with Michelangelo for a mediation session into the spiritual plane, he would make sure he invited Gaia, to hold Mikey's hand and purr loudly, just in case.


	15. Chemistry Of Connection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The loud and the quiet. The extrovert and the introvert. The mild one and the wild one. The one with too many words and the one with not enough words. The thought and the body. The one who wants to know everything and the one who wants to experience everything.

* * *

"If we stood close to each other, side by side, as true brothers and sisters, then evil would not know how to stand between us." ― Suzy Kassem

"Sometimes being a brother is even better than being a superhero." ― Brad Boney

* * *

The chemistry lesson was over. Nothing had exploded. But Donatello didn't like the silence. Usually, Mikey would jump up and announce his ideas for a new recipe inspired by whatever Don was working on, and Donnie would secretly hope there would be chocolate involved. Oh, how they both loved chocolate.

But this time, Mikey sat there in the second desk chair, tapping against the table next to Don's main desktop computer. Don didn't like how his ankle, crossed over his thigh, kept twitching at an impossible speed.

Mikey had healed up remarkably well after his and Raphael's battle with interdimensional shadow creatures in a collapsing building; he had emerged from his coma two months ago seemingly okay. But it had cost him: Gaia had to help Don look up dyspraxia and how it affected perception, behavior, and especially learning, memory, and thought. And every now and then, Mikey would drop something he was carrying, or walk into the table instead of to a chair, or pause imperceptibly during sparring to recall his direction, or repeat himself when excited, or get clumsy and more cluttered than usual, or suddenly become too sensitive to stimuli. And it really was infrequent, and physically Mikey really was ever the incredible acrobatic ninja, but still Donatello worried to the point where he had Splinter, April, or Gaia side-eyeing him whenever any discussion about Michelangelo's skills came up, and even Leonardo didn't seem so concerned about Mikey's occasional pauses in battle, because Mikey was still just so fast it was as if only Donnie noticed the lapse in coordination; it was as if the dyspraxia was just bringing Mikey _down_ a level, and he was already so quick and agile... and at one point Raph had mentioned that Mikey's ADHD already made it seem almost normal; to which Gaia added that the two conditions tended to go hand in hand, that it was not uncommon for a head injury to cause dyspraxia especially with ADHD...

But still, Don would feel that anxiety twisting, and he couldn't stop it. And he would feel Gaia's kitten-soft hand on his shoulder, her empathic energy flowing into him, or Splinter simply gazing at him, until his muscles relaxed and the knots in his belly untwisted. April no longer made him blush and fidget quite like he used to, but her smile still helped him smile.

It got to a point where Gaia's veterinarian sister came to the lair to examine both Mike and Don. She recommended that Donnie start taking a daily dose of Splinter's anxiety tea, while giving him a look that would have made Raph back into a corner. And when Rhea examined Mikey, she casually announced that as long as he didn't "overdo anything" he would be fine. That made Don fret even more, until both Splinter and Rhea gave him a Look.

Now, Donatello watched his only little brother for classic signs of a simple partial seizure, and Mikey's eyes were distant staring at the computer screen, and Donnie snapped his fingers, and Mikey's gaze slid to him, and then he smiled.

"What's up, Donnie? You look worried. Again."

Inwardly, Donnie sighed. He assumed Gaia had been having these conversation with Mikey, not just because they were friends and lovers but they had similar brain issues. But he was his _brother._ And no, Gaia wasn't taking Mikey away; in fact she went out of her way to become friends with everyone, especially because nobody had expected a romantic relationship to form. But Donatello really wanted to know and understand and he wondered if Gaia would open up to him if Mikey wouldn't.

"Hellooo? Donnie? You okay?"

And he remembered that Mikey never went into their heads without permission, and Donnie use your _words_ and suddenly all he could think of was Mikey in a coma again even worse until Raph started those telepathic conversations, and…

Hands were on his shoulders, and feet were drumming, and Mikey's eyes were narrowed. "Dude, talk to me. Are you okay? Am I okay? Are Leo and Raph okay? Is the world ending again?"

Donatello blinked. "Oh! No, Mikey, no, nothing like that. I was…just thinking."

"Obviously, dude. Obviously. Look, if you're havin' trouble talking, you could open up and I'll have a look and it might be less awkward."

Donnie breathed out almost in relief and looked at his only little brother fondly. How did Mikey do that? How did he make you want to smile just by looking at you and talking to you? How did he get past your walls and show you that everything would be all right when the world might be crumbling?

Before he knew it, Don had let his mental wall down and invited Mikey's telepathy into his mind, and for a few minutes there was a loud silence. And then suddenly, his only little brother was sitting in his lap, forehead to forehead, and Mikey was grinning, his eyes sparkling. "Aw, dude, relax, it'll be fine. I'll be fine. I will! Look at all the friends we've made! Leatherhead, Rockwell, Pete, not to mention April and Casey, and I wanna include Gaia and Rhea and Freya, because we can, and you _know_ we are tough as shell. You know it's gonna be okay. Okay?"

Donatello blinked, his field of vision full of summer sky baby blue with that mischievous glint. Was he really that perpetually worried about all of them?

He glanced down and finally, suddenly, realized that Michelangelo was wearing his new leg braces again, which meant that he must be hurting badly and his heart squeezed, and he felt Mikey chuckle. "It's okay, I swear, Donnie, just relax. D'you even know how easy it is to jump around with these on? Rhea and Freya made them super sturdy. You know, before Freya went into the cosmetics industry she used to make sculptures and casts for film sets? And then she moved into hair and makeup and she made those prosthetic faces for the actors? That's a majorly awesome job, yo. She said I had, like, perfect muscle structure or whatever despite all the damage."

And he continued to chatter on, but Donnie was gazing over his plastron, his arms, his shell, the scars and chips and scratches that _he_ couldn't heal permanently because he was an engineer not a doctor. But maybe it didn't matter so much now with their new friends, and maybe he could have a chat with Freya and Rhea about inventing medical devices just for hominid chelonians because there were no creatures anywhere like the four of them, and there certainly was no creature anywhere like Michelangelo, and he just wanted to hug his only little brother and never let any harm come to him, no matter how strong the psionics had become, because this was his only little brother, and beyond the annoying pranks, the absurd jokes, the lack of attention, the hyperactive mind, the mask of ignorance, the childlike petulance… Mikey was so powerful, and so kind, and so compassionate, and really one of the best people to have in your corner when the world was crumbling, and Donnie didn't want to lose that and he really was terrified that one day it could happen, that it would all become too much for sweet Michelangelo, and and and and…

Silence again. Mikey was staring at him, frowning. There were tears in his eyes. Mikey's arms were wrapped around his neck, and Donatello found himself yanked into a hug so intense he thought he might break, and all he could do was wrap his arms around his brother's shoulders. And they stayed that way for a while. Donnie realized he never wanted to let go.

At some point, Michelangelo whispered in his ear slit, "Donnie, Donnie, everything will be all right, I promise. If you ever, ever find yourself in doubt, you come to me and I'll give you the biggest hug ever and I will keep telling you that everything will be all right, because everything will be all right, no matter what. You are my smartest brother and I adore you and you are such a major genius and you can do everything and you always make me feel good about myself, and I just want to return the favor, so I swear, Dee, everything will be okay, no matter what."

And Donatello realized he was crying, and Michelangelo was crying, and they rocked in each other's arms. And when Mikey finally pulled away and moved back to his own chair, they just stared at each other and smiled. And Donatello said, "Can you cook something with chocolate?" And Mikey grinned like the sun and said, "If you help me, bro."

And it was going to be all right, no matter what.

* * *

"Yet even in the loneliness of the canyon I knew there were others like me who had brothers they did not understand but wanted to help. We are probably those referred to as "our brother's keepers," possessed of one of the oldest and possible one of the most futile and certainly one of the most haunting instincts. It will not let us go."  
― Norman Maclean

"We can be connected and related in many ways. But what makes us more relate than our blood or DNA is our hearts and feelings. The heart and feelings form true and strong bond between people and it makes them related.  
Thats why sometimes you feel like some people are part of you, or part of the family. Even if they were not born by your parents. Its because of your heart and feelings you have for those people."  
― De philosopher Dj Kyos

"...because of all the things in this world that can hurt you and knock you down, I will never be one of them."  
― Sawyer Belle


	16. The Scent Of Sunshine After A Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here comes the sex, the smut, the graphically detailed clinical technical description of two people stimulating each other to orgasm.  
> Enjoy!

"So she thoroughly taught him that one cannot take pleasure without giving pleasure, and that every gesture, every caress, every touch, every glance, every last bit of the body has its secret, which brings happiness to the person who knows how to wake it. She taught him that after a celebration of love the lovers should not part without admiring each other, without being conquered or having conquered, so that neither is bleak or glutted or has the bad feeling of being used or misused." ― Hermann Hesse, Siddhartha

* * *

It wasn't supposed to be quite like this, but it was, and screw convention or routine. He came tumbling through the huge open window, the rain clinging to his skin like a wrap, and she grabbed a blanket and wrapped him in it, and led him to the larger bathroom with huge tub, and wordless, she undressed him and then herself, turned the water to hot, got him in the tub, turned the showerhead to emit a twisting spiral waterfall spray. With a tiny whimper, he raised his head to it, as the grime and blood went down the drain.

She soaped him up, taking care to scrub his scutes and the grooves in his carapace. His eyes, no longer clouded, watched her, his clear eyes trailed up and down her body as the fine white fur on her arms, legs, and décolleté wetly stuck to her. Her cat claws flexed and sheathed under her fingernails nervously. They had taken showers before, they'd had shower sex, why was she anxious? Was it the blood? Was it the cracks in his plastron and the cuts along his shoulders? She made sure to keep those as clean as possible.

And Michelangelo had his huge muscled arms around her, and Gaia paused with the loofah between them, and they held each other. His heart was pounding beneath the keratin and cartilage and she ran her hands up and down, and he grunted softly. Bruises here and there.

Gently slipping down, Gaia began to carefully lather up his lower shell and his legs, the power of those muscles rippling catching her breath. She reached to the back of his thighs and felt his tail flick and shudder.

See, and that was the fascinating thing, after she and Rhea had talked about the boys' unique physiology. They really were more human on the inside. Their reproductive organs were humanoid. Turtle tail, humanoid anus, turtle cloaca as a slit-like pouch to encase the penis and testes. The penis was human-ish, though dark purple and more tapered at the end, and larger than the average large human penis. They had prostates – she'd learned that early on.

And knowing this, as she watched the soapy, grimy, bloody water flow down his legs, Gaia very carefully, very slowly, reached with two soapy fingers and made a lighting quick swipe from the tail to the cloaca that rested under the lower plastron, and Mikey made a sound between a moan and a whine, and soon he was clean. He turned and turned, rinsing thoroughly.

When their eyes met as she stood, he enfolded her again and grabbed her favorite shampoo, the "all natural" all-in-one with coffee and cocoa in it, and lathered her entire body head to toe, and he circled her breasts with red-furred areola, and his fingers trailed over her waist and her fine white-furred belly and the fine black-furred mons pubis, and her clitoris was already exposed, and his huge finger flicked it, and she grabbed his arms and gasped.

Mike chuckled, low in his throat. He grabbed the matching conditioner, and then she smelled like mocha latte, and he rumbled that she was good enough to eat, and after thorough rinsing he wrapped them both in big towels, and because her left leg was trembling he lifted her out of the tub. And he rubbed her down until her fur was fluffed and it made them laugh.

And she murmured, "You need peroxide and antibiotic ointment" and he smirked and did so, and then he scooped her up and she felt so tiny in his big arms, and he was rumbling as though he could purr.

And there was her bedroom, right next door, and he removed his towel, spread it out on that queen bed, and lay her on it, sprawled, and she licked her lips and bit her lips and she wanted to stim and flap and giggle, so she did, and he giggled too, a jar of coconut oil in his hand already. And Gaia was glad to be sterile and have a lover who probably wasn't reproductively compatible anyway.

The sensation of a huge finger slicked with oil pressing through her labial folds, into her vaginal canal, made her arch her feline flexible spine and purr with a groan at the same time. She watched Mikey crawl to her, knees planted on either side of her hips. Gaia grinned. "S'hmm," she muttered. "My sisters are working real late tonight. They did say that if this happened to clean up our messes."

"Oh, I'll clean up," and Mike's voice was husky. "I have a great tongue."

"Better that mine?" and she opened her mouth wide and stuck hers out, emphasizing the rough side, the sharp canine teeth.

His only reply was "Hnnnmm."

She gently ran her fingernails down his lower plastron, to the fascinating bulge, the cloacal slit that was not quite chelonian, not quite human. "Feels like someone's ready to drop."

He threw his head back. "Gaia…!"

"Mikey…?"

And he dropped down, the penis unsheathing and presenting itself, the tip pressing against the crease between her groin and thigh. "There we are," and she purred, in various registers, and his head snapped down, his eyes widening to stare at her, and then her hips were lifted, her ankles were pressed against his broad shoulders, and her inner labial folds twitched and parted like flower petals, and the head of his penis pushed through.

And their sounds echoed each other, and he was slow, and she was slow, and he pushed in a little more, a little more, until her vaginal tract lengthened and she took more of him in, over halfway,;and then, carefully, he began to pump his hips, slow thrust after slow thrust, and the chemical sizzling rush danced up from her groin to her head, and she shifted her hips until he managed to hit all those alphabet spots. When he came up against her cervix, she keened wildly and he gasped as though in happy shock. She purred and moaned and groaned and keened and cried out, and he did the same, and then it became so intense she was on fire, and she unsheathed her claws and dug them into his thighs, and his voice rumbled above her, and she shivered, and that made him shiver, and as the orgasm ripped through her and rippled across her lower body and tore a growling sob from her, she heard him scream, round and guttural, and Gaia felt heat and liquid mix and flow, and her body literally collapsed, her muscles shaking. Michelangelo fell to the bed, penis withdrawing, and she grabbed a part of the towel to wipe him down before wiping herself.

"Th-thank you," he stammered.

"Thank you," she gasped. Her left side muscles were still in spasticity. She mentally yelled at them to shut up.

Eventually, she would have to go back to the bathroom to pee out the rest of the semen and splash water on her face, but all she could do now was crawl pathetically to the pillows, with his help, and collapse again, head against his plastron while they wrapped their arms around each other.

"Do…do your brothers know…you're here?" she asked.

He nodded. "I told them…I'd text…when I…felt less upset."

"Oh, Sunshine," she murmured.

"Yeah, Kitten?" he murmured back.

"I'm so sorry you have to put up with all this deeper darkness in your emotions."

"Yeah. But I have ways of helping myself. I have coping mechanisms." He hugged her tighter, as if she were a wisp that could fade.

"I like being a coping mechanism."

"And I like being your coping mechanism too."

"Depression and PTSD is so weird, isn't it?"

"Totally." He was silent for a moment. "So. Um. I'm not ready to leave…"

"It's fine. If you sleep, you get to make breakfast." She purred.

He smiled against her forehead. "I'm thinking waffles. I'll text Leo and tell him that. You know, like, just a single text with Waffles. Let him figure it out."

She grinned. "Yeah. Waffles. With yogurt. 'N fruit. 'N chocolate coffee…"

"Hey...Gaia?"

"Yes, Mikey?"

He raised his head to look at her. "I love you."

She blinked slowly, and then his mind and thoughts touched her, and she found herself grinning.

"Yes. I love you too."

"Mean it?"

"Mean it."

Then there was the kiss that was deeper than passion, and exhilarating joy filled them until it exploded and they had to lie back down and laugh and laugh until they were sore from kissing, and that little shiver of _I love him and he loves me!_ echoed through her, pouring feel-good hormones and chemicals all over her body. _Look at us, we are in love!_ And that silly smile would not go away. Because no one expected this, and it felt so good, and everything was okay.

By the time Gaia had fallen asleep, she only barely felt someone pull a comforter over her, up to the neck, and she snuggled deeper into Mikey, who smelled like fresh earth, and chocolate, and spices, and petrichor. The rainstorm outside was still going, the remnants of a rooftop battle washed away, and eventually clouds parted just enough to let a sliver of sunshine through.


	17. Just A Little Supernatural

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cough the last sentence cough

Just A Little Supernatural

* * *

"I'm surprised you thought to do this now," Gaia said, flexing her pawed hands and feet, while Donatello pressed the biosensors here and there.

"Well," Don said, "You've been our friend for over six months, you've been…exchanging…with Mikey here for a significant amount of time…"

"Dude, did you seriously just say 'exchanged' to mean 'had sex' with a straight face? Wow."

Gaia giggled, kicking her feet and stretching back on the metal table. "And you," Mikey pointed at her with a flourish, "quit being sexy in the lab, you!"

She flicked one of her part human, part feline ears, and said, "Should I say that I'm ready for my close-up?"

Mikey just stared. Donnie's mouth was set firmly in a line. He almost made his brother turn around, but, well, nothing he hadn't seen.

"Oh," Don added, "Gaia, you mentioned that your whole family is polyamorous and pansexual. Have any of your sexual encounters led to illness, pregnancies, things like that?"

Gaia shook her head. "Everyone's on birth control, and we always make our partners get wellness check-ups."  
  
Don nodded and shifted an electrode.

"Mikey's been my first primary steady encounter, as you put it, for over a year," Gaia said, "Rhea and Freya have been exclusive and primary for five years, and the less said about Freya's last partner, the better."

"Why? Michelangelo asked. "Break up?"

Gaia looked at the ceiling. "Death."

"Oh. Ohh. Sucks."

"Yup."

Donnie had finished placing the electrodes on the furless parts of her body. "Okay, we're ready. I think you're the first person to test out these machines since Leatherhead and Rockwell got them."

"Aww, sweet, can I rub my face on them?"

"I have no idea what to say to that, Gaia."

Mikey and Gaia laughed.

Donnie ran her through tests, including purrs, growls, feline and human vocalizations, movements, stretches. He didn't comment on her brain damage or her affected left side. Sometimes all she did was lie there with the EEG headband, purring and humming simultaneously. She again explained how she and Akeso had gotten covered in mutagen together, with the headband and heart monitor and blood pressure cuff. She demonstrated her claws on Mikey, as well as her tongue and scent glands. Throughout it all, Donatello remained blandly professional, so Gaia and Mikey telepathically exchanged sexual quips to see who blushed harder. Donnie decided to test her on that, too.

When everything was done, all he said was, "I think I'm gonna look these over with your sister. I really just wanted to test the machines. And no, you are not rubbing yourself on them. Go…play with Ice Cream Kitty."

But the flush on his face and neck said much more, and she just grinned and nuzzled his cheek, and took Mikey's hand and headed for the kitchen.

Later, Donatello sat at his computer, scanning the internet for news from five years ago, looking under the name Freya Siggur. He found a brief, obscure clip of two young women, called "hunters," being attacked by what appeared to be hyenas, leading to the bloody and violent death of one Anya Solo, with Freya stonily slaughtering the hyena creatures with both a rifle and a dagger inscribed with symbols. A side panel referred to the hyena creatures as "crocottas" but he may have just been too tired to see it properly.

Donnie was asleep by the time the final image had fully loaded, showing a very young, very angry, blood-spattered Freya brandishing a shotgun at a humanoid monster with a mouthful of sharp teeth, and in the background was a black 1967 Chevy Impala, with two young men running toward her out of the mist.


	18. Carry On, Wayward Son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was absurdly fun to write. Very special thanks to my beta and Supernatural expert, Lily Cat. She helped me correctly pin down the Winchester boys' emotional reactions, especially as I'm taking them out of Season 10 for this crossover.

As a child, Michelangelo had moved quickly. He was a runner, a sprinter, a leaper, he bounded, he bounced, he spun.

During the small walks around the sewer tunnels during those formidable years, Yoshi, still slightly unaccustomed to being Splinter, would sometimes place his terrapin children in tiny pockets of wall and sing them to sleep while he went to the surface to bring supplies for their little home. He was always quick, and back within twenty minutes, and it was always the youngest who woke first, chirping "Dada!" and holding out freckled arms, baby blue eyes shining and full of love. And as the little group walked back to their home, the youngest would skip ahead and run just a little too fast, and it was always, "Michelangelo, stay close to your brothers, please!" that would bring him back, because Daddy was warm and full of love, and his brothers needed him.

When they were four, and Splinter with confidence and pride, they ventured slightly deeper, and it was Michelangelo who found the hole first. Around it lay scattered two-by-fours, thick and huge pieces of plywood that should have been unmovable, and yet there were nails embedded and there were nails scattered. Warmth spread up and out, dangerous warmth that felt like hisses and calls for blood, calls for spirits. All over the was were oddly-drawn paintings of snakes. Snakes everywhere.

And when Splinter naturally came toward to curious calls of his baby, his fur stood up and he hissed hard enough that even little Raphael stopped grumbling and stood like a statue. And little Michelangelo simply stood there, bouncing, at the very edge of that jagged abyss, and gazed into it with bright, quick eyes. Splinter's heart was pounding so hard he though the very sewers could hear it. And when Michelangelo turned to him, his eyes wide and bright and somewhat glassy, said solemnly, "I bet they can hear us!" Splinter growled and snatched him up, and the other three followed silently as he ran toward the lair, but Michelangelo only laughed softly and patted the side of his face and murmured, "S'okay, Daddy, they're just lonely and hungry!" and that only made Splinter's heart want to crack in terror.

* * *

"Ugh, that's another one." Raphael lashed out with the broom as Leonardo kept mumbling "Gentle, gentle," and the tiny snake slithered between the crack. "How and why do they keep coming to the lair? The sewers and subway tunnels are huge, guys!"

"They most likely smell food," Leonardo reasoned. "And warmth."

"Hey, I cannot help it if I love baking," Michelangelo sniffed, carefully guiding another snake away from the lair, "and if Donnie built the world's best stove."

"Right, it's all my fault," Donatello mused in sarcasm.

"Uh, kinda is, dude? You're the one building heat lamps everywhere and-"

"Because despite what a darn veterinarian thinks, we are still turtle enough to need heat and water?"

"Leave his girlfriend's sister outta this, she's just doing her job."

"Raph, she is not my-"

"Besides, if you don't, said vet's wife will beat you up. Also, Mikey, Gaia is so your girlfriend it's not funny. When you start banging, you're definitely boyfriend and girlfriend, end of discussion."

"Don, Rhea never said we weren't turtle enough," Leo said calmly, standing up. "She said we were more hominid than chelonion. You're being offended by your own science."

"Awww, does Raph have a crush on Freya?"

"Shut up, Mikey, I swear…"

"It's cool, they're polyamorous!"

"There's another snake! I should probably just seal these cracks…"

"Hey, April's texting. There's some news report about humans wandering into the sewers and falling down a huge hole and dying?"

"Wait, April texted you? Why didn't she text me? Oh, it's a group text."

"Really, Donnie, give it a rest."

Sighing, Leonardo went to the television and turned it to the news channel. The story was small, one of those "and in other, local news" stories. But it caught his attention. Because the spot the reporter was describing was one he remembered going to as a young child. He leaned closer, tilting his head. Yes, definitely. But Splinter had made them leave, Splinter had seemed frightened and angry. There had been…wood boards? Why?

"Hey, guys, do you have any vague memory of-"

And as he turned, he saw Mikey staring at the screen, mouth open, eyes glazed, shivering. Quickly, Leo turned off the TV and knelt in front of Michelangelo, reaching for his hands. "Mikey, what is it? Are you seeing something?"

His brothers quieted, gathering around. Mikey blinked and shook himself. "Huh? What? What, why are you all looking at me? Did I do the weird psychic thing again?"

"You did _a_ weird psychic thing," Raph muttered. Donatello flicked his arm.

"Did you hear that news report?" Leo clarified.

"Oh! Yeah. You guys don't remember that place? It was awesome. There were, like, murals of snakes on the tunnel walls and everything."

Leo and Don exchanged a look. "I keenly do not recall it being in any way awesome," Don said. "In fact, I remember sensei desperately getting us away from there. He had to pick you up and carry you because you were so close you were ready to fall in. You squirmed the whole way home."

Mikey stared at him and scratched the back of his neck. "Really? Huh. Sooo, nobody remembers the voices?"

They glanced at each other in alarm.

"I think we should go talk to Master Splinter," said Raph gruffly.

* * *

Master Splinter didn't want to talk about that day.

"Yes," he said, head bowed, head half closed. "I remember that day vividly. But I do not believe it to be of great importance currently."

They glanced at each other.

"But the news reports are saying that people have gone down there and not come out," Donatello said. "As in, they may have died. Brutally."

Splinter raised his eyebrows, ears perked.

"Also, him," and Raphael pointed at Michelangelo, who was humming and looking at the walls.

"Wha, me? What'd I do now?"

"Your _vision_ , numbskull. Or whatever that was. During the news report?" Raph tapped him on the head. "What was that about?"

Mikey shrugged. "I'unno. I forget. Hey, is anyone else really warm right now?"

"No. Donnie lowered the heat to stop those little snakes from getting in." Leo raised an eyeridge.

"You sure, dudes? Because it's like a sauna. A really over-saunaed sauna."

"Mikey," Don said, with exasperation, "I promise you, the lair is not over-heated. If anything, I made it just a little cooler. We may all want to sleep with heat lamps for a couple of days."

"Ugh." Michelangelo scrunched up his face. "No thanks. I don't want to sleep through a sauna, no matter how turtley I am."

His brothers exchanged glances that said "It's Mikey, what can you do?" and turned away. But Splinter came forward and swiftly pressed his hand against Michelangelo's forehead. "You are warm," he murmured."

"I know, right?" Mikey said. "I mean, I love to bask as much as the next turtle, but this is just silly. Also, you hear that weird hissing noise, right?"

Splinter's hand instinctively jerked and his eyes widened.

"The ones that sound like voices. Come on, nobody can hear that?"

"Michelangelo," Splinter said, very carefully. "Do you remember how to get to that…place we went to when you were children?"

"Sure! Also, hi, psychic."

"Yes. That may be why you alone hear these sounds." Splinter tried to smile kindly.

"Oh! Right. Sorry, it's been a really weird day. I've had weird dreams. Also my head's been hurting and I feel dizzy and I should go splash water on my face."

And when Michelangelo skipped back into the pit of the lair, Splinter struggled to recall if there had been any iron around the hole twelve years ago.

* * *

"Yeah," his older brother said, flopped down on the hotel bed, looking deflated, "a trip to New York City sounds awesome. And hey, kicking a little monster ass before we get some takeout? I'm up for that."

"They're saying it's underground," he said. "Like, sewers underground. Abandoned subway tunnels."

"What, and we haven't fought monsters through sludge and crap? Hell, maybe we can find out if those rumors are really true, like…giant alligators or…or mutated turtles that got flushed or whatever."

He sighed, shrugged, and opened a beer, wondering if the Impala's tank had been filled, reminding himself to check his gun's rounds.

* * *

The five of them walked silently through the tunnels, although every now and then, Mikey would hum a tune. Splinter led the way, and wouldn't answer questions; his muscles seemed rigid. The tunnels were getting slightly warmer.

"Thataway," Mikey murmured, pointing, and they went right. Nobody commented on Mikey's startling lack of enthusiasm or energy. They assumed he was concentrating. The team dynamic had altered enough during the past year that Michelangelo's calm silences were seen as attempts to focus his telepathic or clairvoyant senses.

Slowly, as the ground sloped, they saw it, the massive hole laid over with wood, some fresh and some old. As Leonardo knelt to examine it, Donatello began walking around its edge. "Makes me wonder why they've been using wood and not metal to seal this thing. It's not as if the hole goes anywhere."

He stepped on an end of one of the wood pieces, and Michelangelo screamed "STOP!" and Don shuddered and nearly lost his balance, staring at his little brother, who just stared back at him.

"Don't walk directly over it, silly," Mikey said, jovially. "You might wake them up."

"Uh oh," Leo muttered under his breath.

Heat was rising like summer steam, and everyone but Michelangelo backed away a little. And then he giggled a few times, swayed, said in a high-pitched voice, "It is _really really_ hot in here!" – and collapsed.

* * *

As his brother drove across the Brooklyn Bridge, he kept researching and cross-referencing. "Literally the only thing I can find is something about snake demons, who use telekinesis to paint snake drawings around the area so people notice and come look... waiting for people to walk over deep trenches and holes, then snap them up and kill them by drinking all the blood and possibly the spirit, which amplifies the snake creatures' telekinetic and telepathic powers. Like, they can sense the heat and blood of any psychically sensitive person, but they will particularly rise from their lair to find those with strong telekinetic powers to try and kill them before that person kills them. So, hey, maybe I can draw them out a little."

"Mm'kay," his brother said. "How can we kill them?"

"Uhh, hang on…okay, it seems that someone with deeper, stronger powers than the creature would need to stab it through the face or eye with iron, or something containing iron, staining the iron with his own blood…"

"Like that one new dagger we got in the bag?"

"Yup, like that. And then, ummm, all of the related yokai incidents will recede back through the abyss from out they crawled…and then there's nothing else. That's it."

"What the fuck's a yokai?"

"Japanese word for demon or supernatural creature."

"Oh, so now we're getting involved in Godzilla shit? This is interesting. So where's the hole located?"

He briefly smiled before replying. "An abandoned tunnel under Chinatown's best noodle shops."

His brother threw back his head and roared with laughter. "Oh, this is just too good, man!"

He reached for the radio, and turned up The Foo Fighters' "Learn To Fly" and sang at the top of his lungs.

* * *

In his ice bath, Mikey had asked for the radio to be placed nearby, and now he and Raph were listening to The Foo Fighter's "Learn To Fly" at a ridiculous volume while Raph playfully splashed his still-sweating little brother.

"You in there, kiddo?" he asked.

Mikey, his head leaning far back and his entire body submerged to the neck, half-opened his eyes. "More ice," he mumbled.

Trying not to frown, Raph dug the scoop into the cooler again. "You're gonna make us run outta ice, buddy."

"Nah. Ice Crm Kitty c'n make more. Shz good like tha'." The slurring was even worse. Raph debated yelling for Don again, but there wasn't much they could do at this point. Mikey was slowly succumbing to hyperthermia, and while he hadn't mentioned cramping in his muscles, the passing out in the tunnel was proof.

"Hey, Raph?"

"Yeah, Mikey?"

"Can I get out 'n stretch? Muscles are all weird 'n crampy."

All right, there was cramping.

"Donnie!" he yelled.

As though he had been waiting nearby, Donatello appeared in the doorway. "Everything okay?"

Raph pointed to Mike, who was squirming to sit up. "Cramps. He's got cramps. And he asked for more ice."

"Shiiit." Donnie crouched and pressed the back of his hand to Mikey's forehead. "He's still burning." Leonardo, behind them, turned off the radio. "I don't _get_ it. Nobody should be passing through the stages of hyperthermia like this. What the hell is in that hole, and is it doing this, and how do we get rid of it?"

"Why're you askin' us, you're the scientist!"

"I'm asking the air, Raph. Okay? I'm asking the goddamn air, because our kid brother might die of heat stroke before the day is out, and we live in the _sewer!_ "

"That's it," and Raph stormed out, across the lair, where Splinter and April and Casey had been staying openly for the past two days. "I'm gonna find that hole, and I'm gonna make whatever is in it come out, and I'm gonna go stab it in the fucking face!"

An unfamiliar, gruff voice called out from beyond the turnstiles, "Then you had better be a damn good real psychic with an iron knife on you, pal, because this is a snake demon!"

Everybody froze.

* * *

Sam and Dean hadn't expected much when they had finally reached the boarded-up hole in the sewer tunnel. Impressive paintings of snakes all over the walls. Excessive heat rising from it with absolutely no source, Sam's mention of hissing noises. "Yeah, there's no way I have any power to kill these things," he said. "But I saw them. In my head. There's two of them, coiled up, eating a couple of teenagers."

"Fantastic," Dean murmured. "Maybe we'll find a psychic alligator down here."

Voices floated from the other end, pushing the brothers into shadows. They turned off their flashlights. The party on the other end had flashlights, and what they saw made Dean decide to wonder if he really should step out and ask about the alligators.

Four humanoid turtles and one humanoid rat, the turtles around five-six and the rat close to six feet, gathered around the hole, chatting about it and examining it. They had human voices. Human expressions. Human concerns. Particularly when the smallest turtle, dotted with freckles, yelled out, looked overly concerned, began sweating profusely, and toppled over in a dead faint. The others moved like a blur, calling "Mikey! Mikey!" The Winchester brothers watched in stunned silence as the giant rat lifted up the turtle like a child – it had even said "my son" – and began leading the others way. Shakily, the Winchesters followed, with Dean's hand near his gun holster and Sam hissing in his ear _not_ to shoot on sight.

As the voices faded around a curve, Sam whispered, a little louder, "Dean, that's a _family_. And I think these yokai are affecting the little one, he might be the youngest. They're brothers. The rat is their dad. I think… I mean, you know how bizarre Manhattan gets. We've seen those news clips. I think…they're _mutants._ "

"Sooo…what if they really are friends with the giant alligators?"

* * *

The lair was full of nervous movements, twitches, shuffles, hands grasping here and there.

All eyes were trained on the entrance to the lair, beyond the turnstiles. From the bathroom, Michelangelo began to yell, "Okay, getting out now! Gotta get the snakes killed dead! They want power for blood, you know…" And somehow his fever-soaked body had gained bizarre strength, and Raphael and Donatello barely managed to restrain him while Leonardo, katanas in hand, crept toward the turnstiles. Mikey had half-dragged his brothers all the way out into the center of the lair, soaking wet. April and Casey had backed up to the couch, silent. Splinter was directly behind Leonardo, hands behind his back.

Footsteps approached a little closer. Human shadows threw against the floor and walls.

Raphael let out a low, long growl.

That gruff voice said, "I've got a gun, you know!"

Another voice, smoother and higher, said "Dean, put the gun away, I'm serious!"

"Sam, do you see how serious I am? This is my serious face! This is my serious gun!"

Leonardo called out "I've got katana swords and I'm a ninja, do not test me!"

Raphael was twitching, all but leaping in slow motion.

"Snakes!" Michelangelo yelped.

"What snakes!" Donatello cried desperately.

Splinter stepped forward, and with decades of authority, yelled "STOP."

As two young men prepared to step through the turnstiles, the entire lair became a place of living statues.

The only motion was the rise and fall of breath and the dripping of water.

Dean and Sam put their hands up.

Leonardo sheathed his swords.

Everybody just stared at each other.

Splinter ascended the stairs, and stopped close enough so that the boys felt his whiskers tickle their palms. Very slowly and neutrally, he said, "My name is Splinter. Who are you and how did you find our home?"

Dean stuttered. He thought about reaching for his gun again.

The rat master's ears went back. "I am a ninjitsu master from Japan. I once was human. I know every single pressure point on the human body. I can drop you both in seconds. Please start speaking."

Sam blurted out, "Uh, I'm Sam Winchester, this is my brother Dean, we're hunters, we drive around the country hunting monsters and urban legends, we learned about, uhh, snake yokai in the sewers killing people, we wanted to check it out, Dean thought there might be a psychic alligator who could help, and we have never encountered anybody like you guys. Hi?" And he gave a very nervous smile.

Splinter looked into Sam's eyes, for a long time. He slowly bowed. "Very well." Then he stepped aside. "Please, Winchester brothers, come in."

"Uh," Dean said, "Mind if your, um, sons, put the sharp things away first?"

Without turning around, Splinter snapped, "Raphael! Put away your sais."

Raphael muttered, "Wait how did he know how we're related?"

There was a tail thump from Splinter. Raph put his sais in his belt, then pulled Mikey to the couch. "I'm layin' him down, and he really wants to leave the lair, sensei."

Sam hurried forward, then remembered himself. He very slowly approached the couch, hands up again, and Raph immediately hissed. Donnie snapped at him. To Sam, he said, "Sorry, he's really overprotective, and you're new."

Sam didn't even blink. "Oh, I get it. I really, really get it. I'm the younger brother."

Raphael seemed to relax just a little. "Yeah, fine. But you're not touching him, pretty boy."

Sam narrowed his eyes. "Look, I know what this is, and if I'm right, your little brother is in big trouble, and we need to find a really, really powerful psychic. Like, telekinesis for breakfast powerful."

From his fetal position on the couch, Michelangelo lifted his arm and chirped, "Thass me. Hi there, tall human! I like you!"

Sam looked down at him and murmured, "Shit."

* * *

Ten minutes later after introductions all around, Sam and Don had managed to sit Michelangelo up, cover him in cold cloths and ice packs, and get him talking properly. Donnie had to prompt him to use psionics to bring his body temperature down – "We're all so used to his telekinesis that we forget it's so recent, and when he's so out of it that _he_ forgets, it's troubling," – Donnie explained.

Stories were traded, origins and backgrounds and reasons _why_ ninjas and why hunters. Then came the explanations of Hamato Yoshi's life, journey to America, mutations, spending almost seventeen years raising turtles that were more like humans. Sam often said "Awwww" under his breath, while Dean and Casey nudged each other and rolled their eyes.

"Okay," Dean said, "as much as I wanna break out the family photo albums-"

"There would not be many, anyway," Splinter interrupted. I did not acquire cameras for four years, so I mainly did charcoal drawings. Once the cameras were here, Donatello tried to find out how they worked, so Michelangelo broke half of them open."

The humans laughed. Donnie blushed. Raph just made a disgusted sound.

"You were a good father, though," Leonardo said fondly.

"Must have been nice," Sam said, wistfully.

Splinter tilted his head. "Did you…not have a father?"

Dean made an "Oy" sound. Sam shot him a glance.

"Ah, we did. I mean. When I was a baby, our mom was killed by a demon who made me drink its blood so I could later be a vessel for other demons, and then when we were old enough, Dad took us hunting, and then he was killed, and then we got to see him again, and he was killed again, and um. Mostly our lives have been about hotel rooms and the Impala, sooo…"

"What year?" Raph and Casey asked at the same time.

"Wh-wha?"

"The car," Raph said impatiently. "The Chevy Impala, man. What year is it?"

"1967," Dean said. "Black. Four-door sedan, raceback."

Raph's eyes widened. "Tell me she has a 327 powerglide turbo engine."

Dean's grin was toothy. "Yep. She's a beast."

"Ohhhh," Casey murmured. "Four barrel, V-8. Can I see her?"

Raphael slapped him upside the head, hissing. "Later, dude. When we're not in peril?"

"Yeah, but, like…you don't need me for this, do you?"

Dean whipped around and stared. "What, and you want me to take you topside to drool on my car when your friends are in crisis? What the hell, kid?"

Raph leaned toward him. "Lots of hockey. Too many hits to the skull."

"Hey! Those cars are so classic, and if I could get my hands on just one-"

"Shut up, Casey," Raph and Dean said in unison.

Sam coughed. They turned toward him. He was sitting with Mikey's arm slung over his shoulder, holding the turtle casually and gently, like a sleepy little brother. "Hey, so, he's only cooled down a little, thanks to his own telekinesis, so we'd better do this pretty quickly."

Dean looked at Splinter. "I mean, you heard what we found in our research. Is there any…mmm, Japanese folklore that talks about super-psychic snake demons hiding underground?"

Splinter sighed. "I am afraid very little is known about _hebe-yokai,_ save for the fact that, like the others, they are most likely shapeshifters and tricksters. There are many kinds, however, and our enemy here is obviously one that is very rare or uncommon. That they have telekinetic abilities, feed on the soul, and can only be killed by iron does not surprise me. I believe it must be pure, whole iron, however."

"Oh, like this?" And Dean held up a dagger, polished, with a very sharp iron blade.

"Nice eye-poker." Raph had one of his sai out, and he clinked it against the iron.

"It's also a useful letter-opener. Usually we banish ghosts with it, but as long as I can clean it after your brother stabs those snakes with it, we'll be cool."

"Dudes," and Mikey's exhausted laugh floated around the lair. "It'll be fine. No, April, you can't do what I'm doing, stay here and play with Ice Cream Kitty. Ooh! Gimme a sec, I gotta stick my head in the freezer."

Sam was thrown to his knees from the force the sick turtle pushed himself up with, and Donnie had to wrap both arms around his waist. "Mikey, you can let Ice Cream Kitty lick you after we fight demon snakes!"

"But she's so cool and refreshing!"

"What the hell is Ice Cream Kitty?" Sam panted.

And the freezer meowed.

* * *

"Oh," Dean said, staring into the bowl full of ice. "So, that's what a cat mutated with ice cream looks like."

She was cute, her bottom chocolate and flat and settled well into the ice. She also seemed to hear every word he was saying, because she meowed and _smiled_ at him.

He leaned in just close enough to get a lick on the nose, leaving a trail of strawberry ice cream. He wiped at it with a finger and stared.

"Don't lick it off," Leo warned.

"Why?" Sam asked, petting the Neopolitan cat and getting a lick on his finger and a purr in return. "Is she full of poison?"

"No, she just tastes really good."

The boys raised their eyebrows, and at the same time licked the ice cream off their fingers.

"Oh," Sam said. "Wow," Dean finished.

"Mew?" said the cat.

Blinking, Dean leaned down until they were face to face. She leaned forward and licked his nose firmly, then mewed happily. And then Dean licked her back. She danced happily.

"Dude," Sam said with an exasperated smile, "I can't believe you just licked a cat on the cheek."

Dean grinned, licking his lips. "A cat made of ice cream!"

Leo was trying not to laugh and failing.

Dean wasn't even trying to hide his enjoyment as he wiped the ice cream off and licked his finger. "Really good. Yeah."

"Told you," Raph said. "Okay Mikey, we gotta put her back."

"But I'm not done!" cried the feverish youngest, with his head stretched into the freezer as far as it would go.

"Okay, baby brother," Don said, grabbing his shoulders. "Come on. We have some homicidal snake demons to kill. I can't believe I said that with a straight face. Why the hell are you so strong all of a sudden? Somebody help me out, here?"

Sam and Dean both grabbed on to Mikey, carefully prying him as he whimpered. Two ice trays floated out alongside his head.

"Hey, buddy, hey," Dean said softly, in a Big Brother voice, patting his head, "Come on, kiddo. Put the ice trays back. They can't come with us, okay?"

"But it's hooot!" Mikey's eyes rolled up and met Dean's, imploring, and for a moment Dean was stunned speechless at how adorable he looked. He found himself grinning. "Hey, Sammy, he reminds me of you as a toddler!"

"What, the big eyes thing? Whoa. Oh. Yeah. Dad fell for that a lot."

"We do, too," Donatello said, waiting for Leo to return Ice Cream Kitty before closing the freezer door. "It's how he gets away with so many things. It brings out our raging protective instincts, and our miserable failure instincts when he gets hurt." The pain in his voice made Sam frown and reach for him.

Leo cleared his voice. "Uh, sooo…do you guys have a place to stay for the night?"

"Not yet," Dean said. "We haven't even made hotel reservations."

"Don't," Leo said. "We have a spare room."

Sam stared at him. "You…ah…you sure?"

The turtles nodded. Leonardo shrugged. "You're helping us save Mikey's life."

"Yeah," Mikey giggled, "for what, the fifth time, already? Yo, Donnie! What's my death tally? I think it's four! I thought we were keeping score! I just came outta the four-month coma, that was hard healing work. D'you know how long it takes to heal two broken legs and a crushed chest? No wonder it was four months." It was a big speech in his condition. He panted heavily, sweating, opening his mouth to say something else and managing a whispered "You're a good medic Donnie. I wanna be you when I grow up."

Donatello flinched, hard, and Sam's eyes widened. "Uh…sounds close to ours, really."

"Wait," Raphael said, "Both o' you guys died?"

"Long story," both Winchesters sighed.

Michelangelo giggled again, stumbling against Dean's firm hold. "I know! III know! It's in their miiinds!" Dean gave him a sharp, wide-eyed look.

"Mikey!" Leo said, "You promised you wouldn't read without permission!"

"Well," Sam said, steering Mikey to a chair, then holding him by the shoulders, "he is delirious. I doubt he can control his powers well."

Raphael folded his arms. "At least shit's not flying around the house again."

"Nope!" Mikey said, a little more somber, "just flying around in here." He pointed to his temple. "Until the snakes are bye bye."

"I am…not sure what that means," Don said.

Sam bit his lip, staring at Mikey's head. "He's holding it all in. Building it up. Because of his condition right now." He smiled at some confused faces and said, "I'm… kinda psychically sensitive. It gets stronger around powerful people. Like him. He's the strongest we've ever met. Not counting witches and demons. But seriously, he's, like, barricading a bunch of power as hard as he can."

Dean blinked. "Ohh. Like floodgates. Okay, well, we've seen what that's like, we should-"

Both Sam and Mikey jerked, then froze, then very slowly turned to the turnstiles.

"Did you hear a hissing sound?" Sam asked.

"It's hotter," Mikey whispered.

"Shit," Sam whispered. "They're here!"

"What?" Dean yelled.

Sam ran to get the iron dagger, yelling, "They're not waiting for anyone to come to them. They sense Mikey, the heat and power he's registering. They sense me. They're both coming this way."

"What?" Raph said. "I thought they had to wait until someone came to them!"

"Uh, apparently when they sense this much psychic power in one place…theeey go hunting?" Sam offered a very apologetic grin, slowly helping Mikey out of the chair and turning him away from the freezer. Raphael gave him a slight "I might harm you but you're taking care of my brother" stare before grabbing his own weapons.

"Are you fucking kidding me with this right now…" Dean muttered between clenched teeth, and went to get his handgun.

* * *

The four turtles and two armed humans, insisting that anyone else stay in the lair, went past the turnstiles and began walking. Sam and Raph, being the strongest, were holding Mikey between them, who was slowly, carefully, regaining his sense of balance, if not some awareness. Sam held the iron dagger in his free hand and tried to imbue it with any power he could dredge up. "What I wouldn't give to be telekinetic again," he muttered. "Even possessed by demons."

"Yeah, we'll save that story for later," Raph grumbled. "You and your demons."

"You and your aliens," Sam shot back.

"Yeah, well, say it to Leatherhead's face."

"Who is Leatherhead?"

"Giant mutant alligator, Mikey's good pal."

"I knew there were giant alligators!" Dean crowed. "I fucking knew it!"

A slithering made them pause, Dean and Leo in the front, Leo drawing his swords and Dean cocking the hammer back on his engraved Colt .45. As Leo turned his head a fraction and narrowed his eyes, Dean said, "Don't you dare knock this thing, you know how many evil monsters we took out with it? I know you're all, like, sword and honor, but that's you, man."

Not saying a word, Leonardo merely turned his head back and tightened his grips on his swords.

As the targets came into view, Dean looked up, and muttered. "Yeah, should've brought a bigger gun."

The first snake-creature dove down, and Leo yelled "Face!" while Dean yelled, "Eyes!" and they struck and fired.

"Nope, made it mad," Dean said, and Leo growled. Dean tilted his head back. "SAMMY!"

"All right, Mikey, we're up," and at this point Sam was taking all the turtle's weight after Raph had drawn his sai. Urging Michelangelo to the side, away from the battle, he yelled, "Hey! Snake things! Over here!" and before he even knew what he was doing, he slashed his arm with the iron blade.

"Sammy, what the hell!"

"Wait, is he supposed to do that?"

But time had slowed. Both snake demons were focused on them. Michelangelo suddenly pulled away from him swaying on his feet, and grabbed the dagger, muttering, "That was silly, I'm better." He then sliced his own right hand, dripping blood on the blade. Raphael, in the background, roared. Sam stared in shock as Mike pointed at Sam's arm, and Sam watched his arm wound seal up. Michelangelo stepped in front of him, and Sam held out a hand to steady him. Mikey was gripping the blood-soaked dagger, blood running down his arm, dripping on the floor. Sam heard Mikey whisper something in Japanese.

As the first snake's head came into view, Mike stabbed an eye up to the hilt and there was a screech. He stabbed its other eye, and the creature rippled like a heat wave, rearing back and collapsing, turning to a fine mist. The other creature screamed, and Mikey just threw the dagger in its face. It became mist and heat, and Mikey sagged against Sam, apparently exhausted. Out of the corner of his eye, Sam watched Raphael, expressions warring on his face.

"Well," Leonardo said, lowering his katanas.

"Okay, then," Dean said, holstering the gun. He walked to the still-swirling mist. He kicked at the dagger before picking it up, then exclaiming "Ow!" before dropping it.

"That would be because it is extremely hot, I'm guessing," Donatello said dryly.

"That how you use all your intelligence?" Dean grumbled.

"Yeah, okay, I got it," Michelangelo mumbled, staggering forward. He picked up the dagger in both hands, even as his bleeding hand sizzled, and before there was another sound, he turned his head and said, "Shove it, Raph, I said I got this." And he slowly began walking to the lair, swaying a little and limping on his left leg. He pointed a finger back at Dean, and the blisters on his hand vanished.

"Well," Dean said, blinking, "that's useful."

"It takes very little energy to heal others," Donnie said, "extraordinary amounts of energy to heal himself."

"So, what you're saying is someone should catch up to him before he passes out on the floor, got it," and Sam ran ahead.

* * *

"As battles go," Dean said, over a large bite of pizza gyoza, "that was almost anti-climactic. But fun! I don't think anyone else we know could have done that. Man, these are _good._ We're still gonna save some for Mikey when he wakes up, right?"

He had already eaten half a dozen, and seeing what was left on the table, the endless sea of dumplings, no one worried about putting some aside.

Donatello returned from his lab, which contained the infirmary, and resumed his place at the table. "Mikey should wake up within the hour. He's healing and cooling down simultaneously, so he'll be weak and hungry. Which ones are we setting aside?"

Sam pointed silently to the dozen that Murakami had already wrapped in another bag, marked with Mikey's name. "Dean's so blissed out he forgot."

"I think I like these better than pie," Dean said over a mouthful.

Sam paused and stared and stared. "Holy shit. I think we'll need to place another order before we leave."

"A big one."

"And then come back."

"There's more monsters in New York, right?"

Splinter stood in the doorway, smiling. "The guest room is prepared, my friends. You may have the first showers."

"Right, right," Sam said, "your bathroom has multiple stalls and tubs and fixtures, that's pretty neat."

Dean agreed with a sound, around his mouthful.

"Perhaps, tomorrow morning, you would like to sit in and watch us perform some katas?"

The boys shrugged at each other. "Sure," Sam said, "we could always use ideas on combat."

"Think Psychic Boy will be up for that?" Dean asked.

"Mikey will be fine," Raph said. "He just needs sleep. And provided he doesn't prank anyone, we'll all be bright and happy."

Later, Sam and Dean prepared the room, and sat around the couch with Leo and Raph, watching horror movies. In the middle of the first film, Mikey walked out of the infirmary, limping, stretching. "Oh, good, I'm not missing the marathon."

"Hey!" Sam jumped up and offered him a seat. "Glad to see you're okay!"

"Thanks," and the smile Mikey offered was sweet, strong, and shining, and Sam smiled back, basking in that natural grin. As long as this kid was all right, he felt better. He truly understood in that heartbreaking way how it is to have a precious brother you would be willing to die for.

"Hey, pal," Dean clapped him on the shoulder as Mikey sat between the brothers, his bandaged hand reaching for a can of soda. "You did really good."

"Yeah, I guess so," and Mikey's shy smile and ducked head made them meet eyes over his head.

"You really did, Mikey," Leo added, and Mikey's head snapped up. "We mean it. We don't mean to tease you all the time, but we all know your potential. With or without the psionics. I mean, did you know your hands were shaking when you stabbed those things?"

"R-really? I didn't know…" and Mikey flushed, causing the Winchesters to put their hands on his shell with another concerned glance. Raphael leaned forward, to Dean and said, "He gets kinda weird about praise sometimes. He's got ADHD, and he slips up a lot. He gets in the way and sometimes we just…let our frustrations out."

And the Winchesters nodded, their mouths forming Os, and kept their hands on Mikey's shell encouragingly.

* * *

Later, as the turtles dragged themselves to bed, Sam and Dean were stopped by Splinter on their own way. "I wanted to give you this, for your journey," the rat ninja said. He held out a slender kunai, carved with engravings on the handle and the base of the blade. "It carries the Hamato clan crest."

The brothers stared and gaped a little, and Sam smiled and bowed, murmuring deep thanks, while Dean's eyes were wide with awe, clearly impressed. He just nodded. And at the silent and deep appreciation, Splinter merely nodded and smiled. "It is also," he added, "imbued with my own spiritual energy, and that of our dojo tree. Perhaps it will slay a difficult creature or two along your way."

As the boys were still smiling at each other, the tall humanoid rat held out his arms and embraced them warmly. Finally relaxing, they shut their eyes and smiled, feeling a lifetime of sorrow, weight, wayward travel, and battle slowly dissipating, just a little. Sam was clearly struggling not to cry, and Dean was biting his lip so hard it bled. As they separated, that sensation of peace remained. There was peace when they were done.

"See you in the morning, boys," Splinter smiled. "And may we meet again on the long road. Try to not fly so high that you fall too far."

Neither knew what to say. Splinter knew that. He merely bowed, and they bowed back, and as the rat ninja turned to face the tree in the center of the dojo, the Winchesters headed toward their own room, dizzy and overwhelmed but more relaxed than they could understand.

* * *

And in the shared bed that night, Sam looked over at Dean right before closing his eyes, and said, "I miss Dad."

"Yeah. G'night, little brother," Dean said fondly, and turned off the bedside lamp. His last thought was of Raphael and Michelangelo, and brothers' bonds.

Nobody had nightmares that night.

* * *

"I don't care about whose DNA has recombined with whose. When everything goes to hell, the people who stand by you without flinching-they are your family." ―Jim Butcher

"You must remember, family is often born of blood, but it doesn't depend on blood. Nor is it exclusive of friendship. Family members can be your best friends, you know. And best friends, whether or not they are related to you, can be your family." ― Trenton Lee Stewart


	19. Spirit Willing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was the oddest, weirdest, most bizarre little story I have ever written. At first I had no idea where it was going. And then it ran so far ahead that I couldn't catch up. And by the time I grabbed on to what was really happening, it was like my writer brain had exploded. I think I got runner's high. I have no idea what to tell you. However, some of the psychology methods used with PTSD are real. I've applied them to myself. So that's all I really know.

"Your soul knows the geography of your destiny. Your soul alone has the map of your future, therefore you can trust this indirect, oblique side of yourself. If you do, it will take you where you need to go, but more important it will teach you a kindness of rhythm in your journey."  
― John O'Donohue

"Idris: Are all people like this?  
The Doctor: Like what?  
Idris: So much bigger on the inside."  
― Neil Gaiman

* * *

Spirit Willing

* * *

"So," Michelangelo said after a loud sip of soda, "Mutant ninja turtle verses former Norwegian naval officer, both hotheads. Who are you betting on?"

"Oh, Freya." Gaia flicked both ears. "She took multiple martial arts, she hunted monsters, and the Navy up north doesn't play around."

Raphael let out a frustrated yell as the blonde human flipped him over her shoulder with an almost feral snarl.

"Point!" Leonardo called. "Freya!"

"DAMN IT," Raph struck the mat with his fists and got to his feet.

"Did you want me to tickle you, Raphael?" Freya smirked, sweeping wayward curls out of her eyes. "You wanted to try hand to hand with me. I told you I would not go easy."

"That's my girl," Rhea called, clapping.

"Okay, I'm callin' Freya to win already!" Mikey said.

Raph pointed at the dojo's doorway. "I do not need comments from the peanut gallery!"

"Again!" Leo said.

This time it was Freya who made the first move, head down as if to tackle. At the last second, she swerved left and wrapped one arm around Raph's waist, pushing him hard to the mat. With a snarl, Raph grabbed her forearm and began to flip her. She bent forwards and snapped her arms inwards, completing a somersault before spinning to her feet and kicking him in the shoulder.

"Point, Freya!"

"HEY! C'mon, Leo!"

Freya looked at Leo and winked. "I don't think he likes losing."

Leo grinned. "Sshhh."

After two more rounds, one of which went to Raph when he surprised Freya from behind, they bowed to each other and toweled off. Raph, grumbling, stepped past Mike and Gaia, who by this point had popcorn, and stalked off to his bedroom. Rhea gave Freya a peck on the lips and checked her bruises. "I'd check Raph too, but he might throw me out."

"He would," sad Donatello, emerging from the lab, wiping oil off his hands. "You should see what he does when Leo beats him."

Gaia stood and grinned. "I think he likes you, Freya."

Freya grinned back. "He's very hot, but too rough. I only like to be thrown against a wall occasionally."

Rhea wrapped one arm around her waist. "Give me some more aikido lessons, I'll learn to throw you better. Besides, would he even want to do a triad?"

"Probably," Leo said. "Mikey's the only one of us who's had sex, and Raph might be envious."

"Speaking of that," and Mikey picked up Gaia, "Wanna go to my room and turn up the music real loud?"

"Hey, now," Leo interrupted. "You and I have a meditation session scheduled."

"Aww, but I might be more relaxed after!"

"That's true," Freya stated.

Leo pinched the skin between his eyes. "Fine. But I want Gaia with us."

"Really?" Gaia said. "Why?"

"In case something goes weird on the spiritual plane. Your purring frequencies could ground and calm him."

"Cool. I'm in."

"Woo!" And Mike was a blur as he ran to his bedroom with a giggling cat mutant and locked the door. A moment later, music blasted just loud enough to mask any other sounds.

The others sat on the couch, and Rhea rifled through the movie selection. They were halfway through a Bruce Lee film when Mikey appeared, walking on his hands with Gaia casually sitting on his feet.

"We are now relaxed," she announced.

"Dojo," Leo pointed. Mikey bent his knees to let Gaia down, then jumped to his feet.

"May we watch?" Rhea asked.

"Sure," Leo said. Donnie followed. "I'd like a session, as well. Mikey, if you're up for it. I was gonna ask if you wanted to help me with some lab work later."

"Sweet. Thanks, Donnie!"

"This is such an inventive and creative family," Rhea grinned, "I love it."

* * *

In the dojo, under the great tree, Leonardo and Michelangelo sat agura facing each other, knees touching. Gaia sat next to Mikey, hand on his arm, and began a high, steady purr. Without a word, they closed their eyes, and Mikey pulled Leo into the spiritual plane.

They appeared in a narrow brick hallway, outside a bolted metal door.

"Seriously?" Mikey griped. "This place? I thought I got over this!"

"I thought you did too," Leo murmured. "I was at least expecting the beach."

Mikey put his hand on the door, then pulled back. "I don't wanna open it, but I don't know what to do…"

"Um…" Leo looked down the hallway, into darkness. "Is anything down that way?"

Mike frowned. "Last time, I got led into a forest by three gods and had a water balloon fight. But I think one of them made the forest? I dunno?"

"Well, we can go look, I guess."

Mikey grabbed onto his arm and bit his lip. "What if it's all just…darkness?"

Leo smiled at him. "I'm here, I'm gonna keep you safe. Besides, do you hear that vibration? That's Gaia. I asked her to keep you calm by purring. Try and focus on that."

Mikey gave him a hesitant smile. "I'm glad you like her."

"Well, she's awesome. And she loves you. And we learn a lot together. C'mon now." And he patted Mikey's hand on his bicep. "Let's get moving."

They moved slowly into the darkness, which seemed to recede with each step. Gradually, whiteness appeared ahead. The outside vibration grew stronger as Michelangelo began whimpering. Leo tightened his grip on his brother's hand.

They walked out into a forest.

"Well," Leo said. "There you go. Now let's-"

Something growled all around them.

"Eeep," from Mikey.

Leo let go and drew his swords.

Michelangelo jumped and spun in all directions, eyes wide, breathing heavily. "The trees," he whispered, "we should go into the trees, right?"

Leonardo tilted his head. "Here, this way." And they crept through the foliage soundlessly, unconsciously timing their breathing with the slow, steady vibrations of Gaia's purring. Michelangelo seemed to calm down, and came to Leo's side, posture straight and eyes narrowed.

The growling came from above, and when they looked up, there was only darkness, and it fell on them. Michelangelo screamed and grabbed Leo by the wrist. For a few moments Leo had no idea what was happening. He lashed out, blindly, struggling to remind himself that if you could not see your enemy you were both a danger. He only knew his brother squeezing his right wrist, and his own breaths, and an eerie stillness as the vibration of purring became distant. He became aware of movement, of running but not running. He sensed a burst of electricity from his right, and suddenly he was yanked forward. He stumbled and tumbled to the ground and then Mikey's hand let go of his wrist and he almost dropped his katana.

Blinking, Leo realized that the darkness was gone, and everything was dimly lit, and he could hear Mikey gasping harshly somewhere.

"Mikey?" It felt like smoke in his eyes, like looking into the sun on a hazy day. He stood, legs trembling, and looked around. "Mikey? Where are you?"

His brother was there, curled up and shaking, mumbling. His eyes were wide open and clouded and shimmering with tears. Leo sheathed his swords and crouched, carefully touching his brother's cheek. "Mikey? It's okay. I'm with you. What happened, little brother?"

He watched as Mike swallowed, pushed himself to his knees, and stared ahead blankly. He was still talking, but in a language Leo didn't recognize.

"Wait…Mikey, what was that? Anden? What does that mean? Svak- _wha?_ I don't…Mikey, I…"

He listened to the words as hard as he could, and slowly he realized.

Norwegian. He recognized some of the words Freya often said. Why was his brother mumbling in Norwegian?

"Ånden må være villig. Svakheten er i fravær av lys. Ånden må være villig. Svakheten er i fravær av lys."

Drawing in a deep breath, Leo placed his hand on the back of Mikey's head, cupping it. "Mikey, please, I need you to come back to me. Can you hear me? Can you say something in English? Or Japanese?"

Mikey looked at him, his eyes like clouded glass. "Bare æsene kan si, storebror."

"MIKEY!"

The ground shook, the trees shook. Electricity, a feeling of pressure similar to opposing magnets being forced near each other. Michelangelo let out a sob of pure despair. Leo felt his teeth tingle as he grabbed his brother in a desperate hug.

"Leo," Mikey gasped. "Leo, make it stop! I wanna go home!"

Leonardo squeezed his eyes shut and gathered all his spiritual energy. He could hear Gaia's purring, loud and frantic, and he focused as hard as he could.

* * *

Leonardo sucked in a breath of air that burned, and opened his eyes. In front of him, Michelangelo did the same, with tears dripping down his face. Gaia had her arms around his shoulders, her face buried in his neck. Donatello, Rhea, and Freya were standing nearby, Freya's mouth open in shock.

Leonardo looked up at Freya imploringly. "Freya? Mikey said something in Norwegian."

She nodded, pale. "He spoke out loud."

Gaia lifted her head and sat back, wiping the tears from Michelangelo's face. He bent his head toward her on instinct.

"What was he saying?" Leo asked.

Freya bit her lip. "He said… 'the spirit must be willing. The weakness is the absence of light. Only the Aesir gods can say, big brother'."

Leo shot a confused glance at his baby brother, who was leaning on Gaia heavily.

"I don't know what was happening, Leo," Mikey said hoarsely. "I just know that something tried to hurt us. And then something was in my head. I don't know what happened."

"Okay," Gaia said, sounding and looking extremely tired. "I'm taking you to bed. Enough talking for now." She stood awkwardly, her left leg and arm shaking. She held onto Mike's arm, and he stood, a little shaky, and they supported each other as they left the dojo.

"So much for relaxed," Donnie said, watching them. "That was the weirdest session ever."

Leo got to his feet and rubbed the back of his neck. "I just feel…a little drained. Like the darkness that attacked us pulled something out."

"Maybe you should sleep, too," Rhea said in a worried voice.

"Yeah, I think I'll…take a nap."

As he headed for his room, Leo instinctively checked in on Mikey, nudging the door open. He saw his brother on his back, pale, with dark circles under his eyes. Gaia was pulling the blanket over them both. She glanced up at the door, frowning. Leonardo nodded and shut the door. He passed Raph's room, where he heard snoring. He'd tell him later, he was just too exhausted. When he got to his own room, he just managed to remove his gear before falling into bed, eyes closing instantly.

* * *

He dreamed about the woods.

He dreamed about that bridge again, the deer spirit…the Shredder. It was so fast this time, everything was so quick. He was back in the woods, looking for his brothers as they each finished their vision quests. They were there, except Michelangelo. He should have defeated Rahzar by now.

Leo frowned. No, this was not how it had happened. Was this a dream? It wasn't a memory.

Raphael and Donatello faded and there was white mist. He called out for his youngest brother.

Something growled at him, snapped and snarled low and fierce. His heart pounded. A deeper, darker fog was rolling in, clouds tumbling over and obliterating that white mist. He didn't have his swords.

_No._

The darkness was rolling toward him and his feet wouldn't move. He couldn't move. He had to move!

He called out for his littlest brother again, his voice cracking at the end. Only a roar answered.

In the distance, he could see a tree. One single tree with thick branches and thicker roots digging into the whiteness, reaching out, reaching toward him, and it seemed to be weakening. He watched a small crack emerge from the tree's center.

The darkness surrounded him, clogging his senses. But he could see a figure walking toward him, head down. Voices whispered all around him.

"Anden," something breathed in his ear. "Villig!"

He struggled to remember. "Spirit? Willing?"

There was no sound, but Leo's head snapped up when the figure stopped right in front of him, gray cloak billowing. He knew already.

"Mikey," he whispered, and reached out. His hand went right through.

"I don't understand!" Leo screamed. "Where is my brother? What's happening?"

"He cannot see yet," a voice said. "Help him see. He must be willing."

"I don't…I don't know what's happening…"

The forest floor opened under his feet and he fell. Images flashed before him, and he recognized some from his private meditations. Voices called to him again, harshly, imploring him to understand, to guide, to protect…

Something very familiar burst into his sight, and there was a burst of light like the sun, and Leo cried out…

* * *

And snapped forward in his bed, gasping, heaving for breaths, feeling the cold sweat on his skin.

His bedroom door slammed open.

"WHAT?" Raphael growled. "Leo! What's wrong?"

Utterly confused, Leonardo watched his brother stalk to the bed and crouch next to him, pure concern on his face.

"What…happened?" Leo murmured sleepily.

"I heard you shouting," Raph said. "You were fighting something. Nightmare?"

Leo shivered. "I…I guess? I'm not sure. Something about the meditation session I had with Mikey."

"Yeah, I woke up a little after you two went to bed. Donnie told me everything. Why the hell would Mikey start babbling in Norwegian?"

Leo shook his head. "Before…before I woke up, I saw something familiar. Like, I've read about it before. Remember when Splinter found all those world mythology books, and I spent so much time reading them? Well, there was one on Norse mythology. And in my dream, I saw all this darkness engulfing everything. And it felt exactly like a myth story I read about the world ending, about the tree of the world falling."

"Yeah, so? What's that gotta do with Mikey?"

"I think…" Rubbing his face, Leo bit his lip. "I think it represents Mikey. The tree, the forest, and how I kept hearing that the spirit needed to be willing. The darkness could be…something deep inside him, trying to…to consume his light."

There was a long silence. He looked at Raph, who was just staring at him, bright green irises huge as his pupils shrank. "You…you got all that from a single dream about one meditation session? Damn, Leo!"

He shrugged. "I'm…spiritually inclined toward my dream analysis?"

Raphael just shook his head, huffing. "Dude. That's…yow. Are you okay now?"

Leonardo nodded. "I'm fine, yeah."

"Okay, because I'm going to punch some things in the weight room. It's, like, six-thirty and I'm wide awake."

"Me too. I'll get to the dojo."

After Raph left, Leo got dressed and left his room. As he passed Mikey's, he lightly knocked on the door. There was a moment of fabric rustling, of soft feet padding across a floor, and the door opened. Gaia, in light blue pajamas, blinked up at him, like a sleepy kitten. "Leo? Wha…oh. Are you okay? Your mind's really troubled. Don't worry, Mikey's okay. He had a nightmare, but he'll be fine."

Leo smiled. "I'm glad you were there. I had a nightmare myself. I can't go back to sleep. Tell Mikey when he wakes up that I feel like pancakes for breakfast."

"Got it. You'll tell me about your dream, though, right?"

"Absolutely. I might need to talk to your sister-in-law."

"That's cool. She and Rhea are in the guest room. Pancakes for everyone, then!" She ruffled her hair, smiled and winked at him, then shut the door.

As Leo prepared to do his katas in the dojo, he glanced at the tree there, and couldn't help but see the other one, the dying tree, the one representing something in Michelangelo's mind, being somehow translated through Norse mythology.

And out of the corner of his eye, he swore he could see a very tall slender man with long red hair leaning against that tree…just for a moment.

At seven, Mikey was cooking the pancakes, Gaia was making the coffee, Rhea was making the tea, and Don and Raph sat blearily at the table, waiting. Leo was leaning in the kitchen's doorway, smiling.

Michelangelo was humming steadily as he flipped each pancake, which floated by itself onto plate after plate. Gaia was floating mugs under the coffee maker and to the table, where Donatello reached for her and kissed her cheek, and where Raph actually cracked a smile. Gaia dramatically gasped, hand to her chest. "Guys, we're in an alternate universe! Raphael smiled for me!"

"Good job, Kitten!" and Mikey dramatically leaned over and kissed her cheek. Raph dramatically rolled his eyes, but very happily drank his coffee.

Freya pulled open the freezer and shared a nuzzle with Ice Cream Kitty, murmuring in Norwegian. Leo felt himself tense up. But Freya simply turned around with a cheesesicle in her hand, announcing that she was bringing it and some tea to Splinter.

Leo went and sat at the table as a plate of pancakes and a cup of tea floated down. "Thank you, resident telekinetics," he said, raising the cup. Mike and Gaia saluted him.

"So," Mikey said, sitting across from him and pouring maple syrup, "Leo, how was your nightmare?"

Leonardo almost spit out his tea. "Uh…back up for a sec?"

Raph looked between the two, eyeridge raised. "Wait, Mikey, did you…also…" he vaguely gestured between them.

"Kind of? Gaia said I was screaming in my head."

"He was. I had to hold him for ten minutes before he stopped shaking."

Raph chewed and swallowed before saying, "Leo was actually screaming. I broke down his door."

Don sighed. "You didn't actually, did you?"

A shrug. "Nah. But you might wanna check the hinges."

Leo glanced down at his plate, then took a breath and described everything.

Michelangelo just blinked at him. Gaia was suddenly staring at the kitchen doorway. The curtain had been yanked aside and Freya was standing there, unmoving, staring at Leo.

Mikey raised his hand and waved slowly. "I-it's cool, though? When I was recovering from my coma back in space, I had Loki in my head for a while. You know, really tall, red hair, likes pranks…"

"Wait, red hair?" Leo gasped.

"What, LOKI?" Freya gaped.

"Well, him and Pan. And Hermes. And Hecate. And, um, oh! And Quan Yin. Yeah…I think that's about it. My subconscious self told me they were like my brain's own projections and coping mechanisms so I'd have people to talk to in my head about stuff while was healing? I dunno."

Freya had come to sit down next to Mikey, ignoring the plate that had been set for her. "You…spoke to Loki? What did he tell you?"

Mikey shrugged. "That I needed to stop brooding and heal, because I was lucky to have such a loving family and he was all, like, betrayed because he was adopted, and he pushed me really far, and I think if Pan and Hermes hadn't set up that water balloon in the forest I might've, like, cracked down the middle and gone all dark? Sometimes it's just Hecate, but sometimes Loki hangs out around the dojo tree and watches me."

Leonardo choked on his tea.

Everyone looked at him. Raphael patted his shell. "Easy there, spirit guide. You gonna tell them about the tree?"

Freya narrowed her eyes. "The…tree."

Rhea had gotten up and was quickly walking around the table. "Freya, relax, it was a dream…"

Freya put her hand up. "No. I want to hear this. Leonardo, did you dream about Yggdrasill?"

Leo nervously pushed his pancakes around. "Uh…kind of? I mean, that's the thing…I think it was only a representation translated into Norse myth. I just can't figure out why. Why not Japanese? Why not Buddhist? Or Greek?"

"Um, I'll field that one," and Gaia raised her hand, head lowered. Mikey frowned at her. She smiled weakly at him. "Neuroscience studies, remember?"

He frowned a little harder, but said nothing.

Gaia, blushing, put her elbows on the table and tapped her fingers nervously.

"Okay. So, Mikey mentioned being confronted by various deities from different pantheons as a way of assuring his mind wouldn't break from his PTSD. They could be psychosis, they could be part of his psionics—no, Mikey, let me finish. If this is PTSD induced psychosis or delusions, then that means that Mikey hasn't been handling part of his recovery well, and Loki plus Yggdrasill could just be an attempted translation from his damaged mind, and that would include the sudden random Norwegian. His subconscious is sending out desperate messages that there is a need to be addressed, otherwise he might fall into a darker pattern, maybe a depressive episode, maybe psychosis, maybe something with the psionics isn't working as well as it should."

Mike was still staring at her, now fearful. "Are you saying…I might lose my mind?"

Balling up one hand into a fist, Gaia put her other hand over his and squeezed. "No, Sunshine. I'm…what I'm saying is that we need to meditate our way back in and find the source of the…the crack. The tree. In the tree that is you. Before the darkness wipes it out. And I honestly don't know why Norse, I really don't, and Freya you need to please stop being upset, please?" and her voice rose in pitch and she started to shake.

Freya immediately hurried to her, wrapping her arms around her. "I'm sorry, sweetheart, I'm sorry, it's all right, I just feel helpless. It isn't every day that people with no connection to the Aesir dream of them, least of all as psychic representations of deep psychological trauma. I didn't want to upset you. I don't have power, I can't help Mikey."

Gaia just hugged her back, rocking. "It's okay. I can. Leo can. And we will. And you are helping. And maybe it's really all a weird coincidence, right? Maybe it has nothing to do with anything. Maybe it's all…you know…Neural Mike and the deeper subconscious using familiar imagery. I need to think on it more when I'm not having autistic anxiety."

"Right." Freya kissed her. "I'll eat my breakfast and quit being intimidating."

As Freya sat back down, Splinter came into the kitchen, gazing at them. "I felt several disturbances in your spirits. Is everything all right?"

"It is and it isn't, sensei," Leo smiled. "Mikey and I had similar nightmares, and we're all just trying to sort it all out."

Splinter looked directly at his youngest. "I sense trauma and deep fear in you, my son. I see images that seem frightening. I would like Donatello and Rhea to give you a medical examination, and then you and Leonardo will have a meditation session to find the source of your current conflicts."

"Hai, Sensei," Mikey said in a small voice, looking at his plate.

Splinter turned to leave, and paused. "Also, I occasionally see a man with long red hair standing against the dojo tree. Who is he?"

They all froze.

"H-he is the Norse god, Loki," Freya said.

Splinter nodded. "Ah. A trickster entity. One Michelangelo has encountered before. I thought as much. Follow the path he leads you down, but be wary. Michelangelo himself knows well the value of a good trick."

And he smiled, and walked out.

Everyone stared at the doorway, then at each other.

Donatello stood up. "I have never been quite this weirded out, but what the hell, why not." He carried his plate to the sink, and acted as if everything was and would be completely normal and nothing in the world would be too unusual.

* * *

Leo, Mike, and Gaia sat under the dojo tree, hands linked. Mikey was shaking; even Gaia's purring couldn't quite relax him. Leo could tell that Mikey didn't really want to talk; during the exam he had seemed cool and distant. So Leonardo simply said, "Let's begin." And closed his eyes.

Immediately, he felt the twisting pull of the spiritual plane and braced himself. It was so much faster now. He was in the same forest as his dream, and he could see the giant, cracked tree in the distance. He could not see his brother.

He moved to unsheath his swords when there was an inrush of air, to his left, and out of the corner of his eye he saw his brother, except—

"Neural?" he asked, tilting his head.

The personal manifestation of Michelangelo's subconscious winked at him. "Feels weird to be out here like this, but I like it."

Leo just stared at him. "Where is Michelangelo?"

Neural Mike just shrugged. "In the tree. He doesn't feel like coming out. He's sad. I understand. It's been rough."

"What has?"

"Oh. You. You don't know. Now this is fascinating!" And that cracked, split grin widened, the gashes along the skin that resembled dendrites and axons crackling with blue electricity. "You see, for a few weeks now, our Mikey has been going through a…psychological trauma. He has been reliving his battle with the Alchemist over and over and over and the poor kid just cannot. Catch. A break. You know what I mean? It's been rough trying to patch up the cracks. I called for reinforcements, but only one guy showed up, and then he started trying to take over the operation, and before ya know it, there's a mythological tree planting roots in my house and a creepy darkness rolling in like something up and ate the moon, and Loki starts teaching me Norwegian, and then the guy says something about ending and rebuilding, and you know the thing about trickster entities, they always have an agenda up their sleeves…"

Leonardo grabbed him by the shoulders. "How do I get Mikey out of the tree? How do I keep his mind from cracking? Where is Loki?"

Those empty eye sockets fixed on him, and the eyelids blinked. "Wow, hi, okay, first of all, you don't touch me, and second of all, what do you think I've been trying to do, and third of all, Loki is wherever the hell he wants to be, he's a psychic manifestation, he can go anywhere."

Leo slowly released him. "I'm going after my brother. You…do whatever you're doing."

He turned, but not before he saw the personality trait flip him off. "Nice seeing you too, bro! Have fun storming the storm!"

Leo began to run, his katanas in hand. "Okay," he muttered. "Mikey needs to want this, he has to be willing. The weakness is the absence of the light. I need to help him fight this darkness. Okay. Come on, Leo. You can do this alone."

"Not alone." And suddenly Gaia was there, running with him, her claws out and her cat eyes narrowed. "I love him too."

They smiled at each other, and as thunder, lightning, and rumbling shook the world, they ran toward Michelangelo's universe tree.

Leo was tapping at the trunk, trying to find holes, and Gaia had leaned in, her nose flaring. She leaned her cheek against the widening crack. "He's here," she whispered, closing her eyes. "Oh, Sunshine." And she sounded like her heart was breaking.

Leo took her hand. "We'll get him out."

"Need help?" And that was Donatello's voice. Leo whirled, already smiling broadly, to see his brothers, weapons drawn, battle stances ready.

"We're sittin' next to you in the dojo," Raphael said, grinning. "Freya was getting impatient. Sensei helped us connect through Mikey's link to us all."

"I am so glad you guys are here," Leo gasped.

They surveyed the tree. "So," Raph said. "Should I, like, open the crack there, or what?"

"I don't think so, Donatello said, "it might fracture him and spread the trauma like an infection. Remember that phrase he kept saying, the spirit must be willing. We need to convince him that it is safe, that his mind is a safe place."

"He's been having flashbacks to his fight with the Alchemist." Leo straightened his posture. "I ran into Neural Mike, who's been trying to keep Loki from taking over and just…resetting, I guess. Making it so everything is wiped clean so Mikey doesn't have to keep going through the trauma."

Gaia paled. "That's not how it works, though. He'll damage Mikey's mind."

"Well," Donatello reasoned, "he's a trickster. He'll most likely do what he does best. He may think he's protecting Mikey's subconscious."

"Where is he, anyway?" Raph growled. "I'm gonna-"

"You're going to what?" came a pleasant voice, and the red-haired giant was there, facing them and the tree. "I am trying to keep this mind from breaking apart. Please don't disrupt my work."

"But you're hurting him!" Gaia said, raising her voice over the storm. "Human minds can't just be cleaned out and restored. We're far too complex. We would die."

Loki tilted his head. "I've protected him before."

"Yes," Donatello said, "by maintaining his subconscious and the barriers protecting him against trauma. But what you want to do now is on a completely different level. You will break his mind. You'll most likely kill him. Can you understand that?"

Loki blinked. He paused. He frowned. Then he looked upward, and sighed. "I suppose I can. Yes. I don't want him dead. But I do want this trauma gone."

"That's just it," Don said, "nothing can just block out and wipe out trauma. We have to come to terms with it, in a healing process. He's going to have to live with his memories, and his mind is going to have to help keep healing over and over and over. I'm sure you know how it is to keep something so huge and upsetting in check."

The deity grinned. "Indeed. Humans – and mutants – really are strange, adorable little creatures. I suppose you'll want him out?"

"Wait, you can't get him out of the tree?" Raphael asked.

"Well…he put himself in there. To protect himself. I suppose, from me. He has to want to emerge now. He doesn't think there's anything here to respond to. I can't force him. Although if I had wiped everything, the tree would have kept him safe, you understand. His being inside this tree would have maintained everything that is Michelangelo, but without that disgusting memory and…emotional damage, and I would have felt much better about it."

Leonardo narrowed his eyes. "I don't believe you would have been able to keep him intact. Something would have had to shatter."

Loki's lip curled up. "Well, you caught me. Yes. There would have been a price paid. But, you stopped it all, so now we won't know. Good luck coaxing him out of such a nice, safe spot. I'll be…around, for more healing." And he was gone.

"Prick," Raph spat.

"He's not even human, or mortal," Gaia reminded him. "He has no actual concept."

"Still. Could've stabbed him to make him pull Mikey out."

"No, Raph. That's not how things work." And Donatello went up to the tree and pressed both hands against the trunk.

"Mikey?" he called. "Can you hear us?"

Silence.

Leo put his hands to the tree, as did Raph.

"Come on, baby brother," Raph said, "I know you can hear us. We need ya to wake up and slide out of there. We need you back."

Branches rustled. The crack slowly began to close up.

"Mikey," Leo called, "I know it hurts. It's scary. You don't want to face these memories, these nightmares, all these things that hurt you so badly. I understand. Remember? Remember when I was almost killed by the Shredder? It still hurts sometimes. I still wake up from terrible nightmares."

The tree began to glow blue, pulsing softly. Gaia pressed her entire body to the trunk, rubbing her cheek against it. "Hey, Sunshine. Your brothers are right, you know. I listen to you cry in your sleep. You're definitely still holding back. But that's okay. That's what happens with trauma. It's going to haunt you. And you're going to have to work at it. You're always going to have to heal. It's part of being human. Even half human." She smiled. "It's part of being alive."

The tree was fully encased in light, and slowly, something emerged from its center.

Michelangelo was very pale, and very still, arms crossed over his plastron as if in pain, as if holding in wounds. His eyes were closed and he was trembling. As one, his brothers caught him and supported him and held him and hugged him. Gaia stood a few steps away and just purred, loudly and powerfully.

"We love you, little brother," they whispered, one after another. "We'll always be here for you."

And slowly, his eyes opened and he stared at them in turn, his mouth in a frown. "You promise?" he whispered, in the voice of a terrified child. "You have to promise. Please!"

Their hearts broke in unison. Leonardo felt his throat close up. "Yes. Yes, Mikey, we promise. By the gods, we promise, we will always love you and we will always be here for you, no matter what, we swear!"

And Michelangelo's head slowly leaned and came to rest on Leo's shoulder, and Leo felt a sob burst, and he let it, as his brothers threw their arms around him, forming an enclosure of bodies, a circle of touch, and Gaia was crying, and everyone was crying, and Gaia gently touched each of their shells and murmured, "Come home now."

* * *

"Come home now."

And her voice shook them, and brought them back, and they were holding on to each other, the four of them, and it took a long time for the tears to subside, and when everyone was calm again, Mikey was the first to laugh, a good, long, strong laugh, and he muttered about the absolute absurdity of it all, and everyone laughed until they felt purged and light.

Michelangelo leaned easily back against the dojo tree, where out of the corner of his eye he saw various figures flicker, smiling at him; a very tall Nordic man with red hair, a pale Greek woman with black hair and a dress like the midnight sky; a Greek satyr, a Japanese woman in a kimono.

He nodded, and whispered. "We're safe. Thank you."

He looked at his family, and there were auras surrounding them, and they were filled with light.

"I love you guys," he said joyfully. "And I'm gonna bake the best chocolate cake just because I love you so much and no other reason."

"That's the best thing in the world," Donatello sighed happily. "One of them, outside the complete breakdown of the laws of physics, and possibly Newton's Fourth Law."

Splinter stood, and held out his hand. "Come, my children. Let us call April and Casey while we talk in the kitchen. We will celebrate your brother's determination."

And that's what it was, really. Determination. Spirit willing. And the brothers walked out of the dojo hand in hand in hand, and it really was the best thing in the world.

* * *

"This is what I believe: That I am I. That my soul is a dark forest. That my known self will never be more than a little clearing in the forest. That gods, strange gods, come forth from the forest into the clearing of my known self, and then go back. That I must have the courage to let them come and go. That I will never let mankind put anything over me, but that I will try always to recognize and submit to the gods in me and the gods in other men and women. There is my creed." ― D.H. Lawrence

"Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing  
and rightdoing there is a field.  
I'll meet you there.  
When the soul lies down in that grass  
the world is too full to talk about."  
― Rumi


	20. Blue Shift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Donatello decides to explore a very scientific side of Michelangelo's psionic powers, with very interesting results.
> 
> Based on an actual conversation I had that started out with spaceships and engines then somehow moved to how I wrote Mikey's psionics without even realizing I was including Doppler references.

 

“Wait, stop,” Michelangelo gasped, “You’re confusing me again. Can you start from the, um, start?”

“What, the whole start?” Donatello blinked. “I just explained the Doppler effect in the simplest terms I know!”

Sighing, Mikey, leaned forward and tapped Donnie on the forehead. “Think about your last two words. What you know compared to what everyone else knows is…it’s like…uh…a star compared to a planet.”

Leaning back, Don frowned. “It’s really that complicated for you?”

“Yes!” Raph snapped. “You keep climbing on that high horse expecting us to run after you, but d’you even know how tired we get?”

Don glanced at him and pouted, biting his lip. “I…okay. Okay. I can try. But only because Mikey needs to completely understand the science and the ramifications of what his psionic center is doing when it gathers and releases power.”

From her cozy position in Mike’s lap, Gaia yawned deliberately, showing off the sharp teeth, the rough tongue. “I would like to remind you,” she said, “that I am working on degrees in neurology and neuropsychology, and I also know more about it than you, so please don’t try. You get petty.”

“I do not!” Donnie pouted. April slung her arm around his shoulders. “He’s so cute when he realizes he’s not being right.”

“Fine,” Don said. “Let me explain the physics and the Doppler effect. You apply all of that to psionic brains enhanced by alien organic technology.”

Gaia smirked. “We could start with April.”

“We will not start with April,” said April. We already know I’m half human and half Kraang alien mutant creation. It’s not the same as the M’Kari creations. The only trace of their history is stories and…and Mikey’s brain.”

“Oh, sure, put all the pressure on me.”

Gaia sat up with feline grace halted by hemiplegia, shook herself so the fine fur on her limbs fluffed, and leaned against Michelangelo’s shoulder, ankles crossed. “April and I can tag team into your mind, you know. Have a chat with Neural, maybe? Pull Donnie into it, so we actually explore the similarities between psionics and Doppler? Remember the telepathic sex?”

“Ohh! Yeah, that was fun. Like, okay, guys, our bodies were together, right? And then I pulled us into that funny red darkness…”

“…which was technically red shift.”  
  
“Right, yeah. And as we sped up, it all went blue, and we were literally glowing blue, like blue energy you could see on our skin. And then it all went white. And I think maybe some things broke? Or melted? Or warped?”

“Wait,” Leonardo said. “Was this in…”

“It was in my room,” Gaia assured. “All my life, my sister and her wife made sure that anything in my room was soft and sensible for overexcited autistic, um, outbursts.”

Donatello was breathing slowly, struggling to keep track of these scientifically implausible events while assigning new science terms for them. “Okay. So we know what happens in blueshift. Everything speeds up, culminates, just like in spacetime, yes?”

“Yes,” Gaia said. “The redshift to blueshift. Continue.”

“Now,” Donatello said, “Whenever Michelangelo gathers power, he starts off surrounded by red darkness. As he moves his power forward, it’s like…traveling, like wavelengths, and he speeds to blueshift. When he releases that power the blueshift lingers during that white flash, because of the electrical currents radiating from his body. This is why when we look at him during an energy release, we observe what appears to be blue light on his skin, expanding like an aura as his power builds momentum. And then, according to Mikey, there is a flash of white.”

Everyone nodded.

“In physics, that’s all about perception of a wavelength. Psionic energy runs on its own wavelengths but still must obey some laws of physics. It’s like…mmm…it’s like working with the kusarigama, you must keep moving the chain, as it undulates between you and your opponent. Right? So, as these waves pass across Michelangelo’s brain, they will speed up and pass through wavelengths until boom, the shift into the spectrum of white, all the colors, in which Mikey’s powers burst out of his head and become energy that manipulates his external environment.”

He turned to April. “It is a similar thing with your psychic blasts. Like with the Kraang and the Mom-Thing. Your energy builds and builds, and you may not be consciously aware of the shift in wavelengths, all you feel is power gathering and then bursting, correct?”

April nodded, eyes wide.

He turned to Gaia. “And with your unmatched telepathic range and quick bursts of telekinetic force, it must be similar.”

She nodded. “I see red shifting to blue, exploding in white.”

“So,” Raph said, “what, exactly, does all this mean?”

Don shrugged. “Oh, I just wanted to play with a theory I had regarding hyperspace and potential faster-than-light travel.”

Leo sat forward. But we’ve already done that sort of thing, remember? On the Ulixes?”

“Yes, but the fact that our resident psychics experience a sort of neurological psionic Doppler effect when unleashing their powers just…got me thinking.”

“Can you think a little quieter?”

“Raph, if you only knew how many times I have held back on you.”

“Well,” Leo said, getting into lotus position, “I’d like a demonstration with Mikey.”

“Yes, me too,” said Don.

“Been there, but what the hell,” Raph said.

They held hands, Mikey smiled and immediately pulled them into the red darkness.

“Okay,” Michelangelo’s voice floated. “So, all this is red.”

“Indeed,” said Don.

“You wanna see blue.”

“Yes. Like that electromagnetic aura on your skin.”

There was a disembodied shrug. And then they were moving, faster than Donatello could think, and suddenly the world was filled with blue lightning, blue streaks, blue electricity, a network of blue that zapped back and forth and kept going, and the speed only increased, and as the red vanished the blue became darker, and there was nothing but blue light, before the world exploded in a white flash.

Their eyes snapped open at the same time.

“Oh,” Don muttered.

“Crap,” Leo hissed.

Michelangelo was shaking, curled up in both Gaia’s lap and April’s lap. Around them were scattered objects, some embedded in the floor and walls.

“I think we went a little too fast,” Raph mused.

“That’s what a concentrated burst gets you,” Gaia said lightly. “Who has headaches?”

Heads lowered, they all raised their hands.

“April?”

“Ice packs and headache medicine, coming up,” and April all but skipped into the infirmary.

“Hey!” Donatello groaned. “No smiling at our pain.”

“So,” Gaia smirked, “Did you go through hyperspace?”

Raphael just grumbled.

“I’d call it a success, bros,” Michelangelo said, curling both arms around Gaia’s waist but not sitting up. “We probably annoyed the laws of physics, too.”

April returned, arms full. “I am not doing that again. My own tessen tried to smack me.”

“S’their fault,” Mikey muttered, nuzzling Gaia’s lower belly as he breathed through meditative exercises. “Donnie wanted me to be an embodiment of astrophysics and psionics at the same time.”

“At least I proved my theory,” Don mumbled. “Psionics technically could latch on to a branch of physics previously unknown. Not quite quantum mechanics, but close.”

“So,” Leo said, “All you wanted to do was prove a vague theory that psionic powers acted similar to spacetime movement including hyperspace?”

“Yes,” Donnie said. “Basically.”

Leonardo reached out and lightly smacked him on the head. “And on that note, I am taking a well-deserved nap.”

Raph got up and followed silently.

Donnie just stared and shrugged. “Well, if you can’t get your family in on your experiments…”

A white, red, and black blur tackled him and he found himself pinned by Gaia. “Next time, please completely warn said family,” she smiled toothily. “All this residual energy is making me twitchy.”

Mikey, sitting up with April’s help, laughed. “Yeah, don’t make the crippled kitten angry, bro. She’s getting really good at modified compensated jujutsu.”

Gaia grinned. “Sometimes I use being crippled to my advantage.”

“Duly noted,” Donnie said, and they separated, as she darted in for a kiss on the cheek. “You guys are all adorable, I want to squish you. We can talk neurobiology and neurophysiology later. Right now I’m frisky and my boyfriend is right there.”

“So, sex actually channels and releases pent-up psychic energy, huh?” Donatello grinned. “Fascinating.”

As Mikey and Gaia hurried toward his bedroom, April winked at Don. “They’ll tell you about it later. Right now, I challenge you to video games.”

Of course they both chose a space travel game, just to debate the Doppler effect. And when the rest of the family came out to prepare dinner, there was quiet giggling at the way the two had fallen asleep leaning on each other. Rather than disturb them right away, Gaia leaned over the couch and sent them both the same lucid dream. Just for a theory’s sake. She could explain the neuropsychological ramifications of telepathically dreamwalking later. This was just fun.


	21. Hold The Door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mikey's latest nightmares result in a shock for everyone, and Michelangelo himself becomes an unlikely hero through an unintentional sacrifice.

"All men must die." -George RR Martin

* * *

Hold The Door

* * *

It is a dream he has too often, but Michelangelo can never recall if it has signs of a premonition.

Some nights immediately after the dream, he deliberately reaches for Gaia, who immediately takes him dreamwalking, and sometimes they travel through space, sometimes they meet Greek gods – usually, Hermes and Pan, as a father-son act, will chase them with water balloons – and sometimes they make love over and over against the giant bonsai tree in the whiteness of the dreamscape. They sit propped against the tree, hands held, and talk about comics and movies and fandom theories.

And then Gaia is pulled away and the end of his nightmare glints like steel, and he is drenched in blood. Mikey wakes up either crying softly or screaming painfully.

This time it's painful screaming, and by the time he manages to slow his breathing from "choke" to "hyperventilate" Donatello is sitting with him, hands on his biceps, murmuring. He leans down all the way and presses a kiss to Mikey's forehead and whispers against his skin "you're okay" over and over until Mikey stops shaking. Donnie finally accepted his role as family doctor but became determined to make Mikey his apprentice, since someone had to doctor the doctor. And now that extra sense Mike gave Don will hum like a tuning fork whenever a family member is in pain, and because this is Mike himself, pain radiates through the walls like radio waves.

Michelangelo wriggles until he's sitting up, and he leans, exhausted, into his immediate older brother's embrace, head tucked under chin, like when they were children. Don's always been the tallest.

Mikey automatically grabs onto Donnie's logic and rationality and transforms it into sensation and wraps it around himself and it soothes him.

He still won't tell them. Gaia only knows because she sees everything with her long, long range, and the two of them have easily grown and braided into each other now, and she confesses that when she dreamwalks deeply she loses her ability to shield. So she knows. She promised not to tell, but she would leave snappy, snarky remarks in the back of his thoughts that Splinter would find out soon, if not Raphael, because who was the one who decided to give Raph a telepathic link to his own mind again? and Mikey would sigh and duck his head.

He decides he'll tell the family at mealtime, maybe lunch.

During morning training, Donnie keeps glancing at Mikey but says nothing. Mike struggles to keep a poker face. Leonardo was always better at that. Mikey always made himself giggle too easily. But now his face is like stone and that is unusual. After a while, Splinter is also glancing at him and Mike throws himself into his katas. But he's given himself away. When training ends he dashes off to the kitchen and concentrates on making breakfast, and before anyone can pin him down there are plates heaped with eggs and bacon on the table, coffee, tea, juice. He sits down unexpectedly heavily, and again he is being stared at.

"Talk to us Mikey," Leonardo says, and his voice is both an order and a plea.

He pushes his food around his plate and pouts. "Just nightmares."

"Premonitions?"

He shrugs. "I don't think so. They don't have that fuzziness at the edges. But…you know how, like Renet and Gaia and people keep saying that futures aren't, um, set in stone? Like, there are lots of…branches? Tunnels?"

Donatello leans back, crunching on bacon. "So, something could happen, if we go in one direction, or it could change if we go in another direction."

Raph leans forward, silent, but his eyes are sparkling and growling. "So, what did ya see? Whose ass we gotta kick?

Mike flinches. "I think…I'm not sure…The Shredder?"

Silence is audible and tangible.

"But…" and here Mikey grimaces because it is hard to smile. "See, okay, like, sometimes I see Loki. And Hecate. And they…team up? Against Shredder? And it's not like they touch him, but he starts screaming, and it's like they're making him weak. I don't know. I tried to ask. Loki just said that he was protecting my family. Um, I think he's hurting Shredder's mind? Like, to show him that we shouldn't be messed with?"

Leo narrows his eyes. "Loki is an ancient trickster. I don't think we can trust him."

There is movement in the kitchen doorway. "He has helped save Michelangelo's life several times," Splinter says. "Trust may not be needed, but acceptance will."

"Well," Raph says. "Next patrol we can get information."

"Tonight?" Don.

"Tonight." Leo.

Mike just stares at his plate.

"Eat your food, Michelangelo," Splinter says. "You need the fuel."

"Well, this is serious," Raph says, smirking. "Mikey doesn't want to eat? That's never happened."

Narrowing his eyes, Mikey takes a huge bite of his eggs and immediately washes it down. It tastes like sand.

The look in Raph's eyes tells him everything.

He sighs. _Stop it, Raph. I'm not…it's not what you…_

_Save it, Mikey. I know you're depressed. I know you're not ready to reach for a stick. But it'll be there when you are ready. I'll be holding it._

When breakfast is over and they are digesting, spending downtime in creative endeavors, Mikey sits on the couch with his sketchbook and swiftly draws with no real goal. His nightmare slowly comes to penciled life, and he feels a stabbing pain in his rib cage. He finds his mind fading, his hands moving on their own, the sketch creating itself, and his breath catches, suddenly filling his lungs with a tingling shivering inhale, and then somewhere in the back of his fading awareness he is counting, and ten seconds pass before he exhales…

And Donatello comes running out of his lab, eyes wide, hands already reaching, and "Mikey, I felt something wrong. I'm here. You're okay." And Mike feels his brother's hands on his face, thumbs brushing over his cheeks, and he feels his eyes widen a little too much, and then he's staring at nothing and his body is quivering and he wonders if he'll fall off the couch but Donnie's arms are very gently around him and Donnie is kneeling so one knee is pressed against Mikey's side. His voice has slid into Doctor Voice and he's making those trilling cooing sounds that they fall back on in turtle language when one of them is too upset to talk, and Mikey feels his head fall against Don's plastron and the vibration of the trilling sounds is soothing, not like Gaia's purrs but familiar like childhood comfort. There's not much they can do during his seizures beyond comfort, anyway.

And somewhere in the back of his fading awareness he is still counting, and two minutes have passed, and he counts another ten seconds, and then his mind slams into itself and he gasps like drowning and clutches at his brother's arms, can't help it, and Donnie speaks and whispers "You're okay, it's okay, nothing bad happened, shh…" but Mikey still feels the tears burst forth and the "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it, I couldn't help it" litany makes him inwardly cringe. And Don rubs his carapace in circles and says "I know, baby brother." And they stay like that until Raph comes out of the weight room and sits on the couch, frowning.

Mikey pulls away and flops to the side, body betraying him. Raphael puts both hands on his shoulders and eases him down until Mikey is lying against Raph's thigh. Don grabs a blanket, then hurries to the kitchen. Mike has to strain to hear it, but Raphael is humming the Japanese lullaby Splinter sang to them as toddlers when they were frightened. Donnie comes back with an electrolyte drink and a plate of fruit and cheese. He has to feed Mike because the shaking is worse, but no one says anything, and Raph just props Mikey against his side and slides an arm around his waist. Michelangelo wants to burst into tears again, but he's already humiliated himself with the seizure – and then he feels Raphael nuzzle the top of his head, and _Bro, if you need to let it out, go for it._ And nobody knows better than Raph. So Mikey swallows the cheese with an audible half-choke and lets the sob break free, knowing he is ugly crying, not even caring. His brothers embrace him and he buries his face in Donnie's shoulder, breath hitching and stuttering and all he can think about is the smells of steel and blood and sweat mingling with ragged breaths and agony in his chest.

At some point, he begins to drift. His eyes close. He can't really move. It is normal, he reminds himself. He feels everything. He feels Raph pick him up and walk, and then he feels and smells his own bed surrounding him. Blankets are tugged and pulled up to his chin. A worn, still plush teddy bear is tucked into his right elbow. His two brothers murmur to each other but he can't make out the words. Then, he feels the bulk of Raph, definitely it's Raph, climb over him and settle onto the bed, under the covers; he hears the scrape of shell against wall. Raph's left arm rests lightly against his upper plastron, his left hand running a soothing flat palm rhythm against Mikey's right upper arm and shoulder, pausing to stroke the head of that old teddy bear in a powerful rush of affection. Emotions and wordless thought waves flow against Mike's seizure-fatigued mind in soft waves, nothing but _concern and love secure safe protection compassion gentleness empathy love you little brother_ and inside he smiles because Raph is such a soft heart.

He listens to the air and the almost imperceptible brush of feet on the floor, and then the sense of Donatello is gone. He senses Raph awake and watching him but he's just too weary to open his eyes. He makes a low humming sound deep in his chest, and even his telepathy feels exhausted. _Thanks, Raph. You don't have to do this._

_Yeah, I do. Now, rest. I'll be right here._

Michelangelo sinks deeper, and the last thing he feels his Raph's beak nuzzling his cheek.

* * *

It's a week later. They're on a rooftop, facing an ocean of Foot bots. Shredder appears, out of nowhere, watching, watching. Michelangelo feels his gut turn cold.

Oroku Saki doesn't look good. He looks as though he has hardly slept. He is breathing heavily. He stares directly at Michelangelo with a glazed look that Mikey can only describe as uncertain paranoia. He wonders if Loki is responsible. His nightmares, still vague, had felt different, as if he were standing to the side. His dreams have been pulling him somewhere and then holding him, while something will happen but he cannot see, and sometimes he hears laughter mixed with screams. In this moment, his dream memories come rushing.

Taking down a half dozen bots in one capoeira move, he flips higher and lands on the very edge, balancing, gripping with his toes, rocking back and forth, the kusarigama chain still undulating while he observes his situation. His brothers are on the other side of the roof, beating down as many Foot as they can. Mikey decides to cheat and sweeps his right arm out, sending a few bodies flying, his mind muscles flexing with that flowing blue electric charge. He grins and softly murmurs "Booyakasha."

To his right, there is an energy disturbance. A mental breakdown. He frowns. The Shredder is crouched on an air conditioning unit, still staring daggers at him, Michelangelo. He is growling in a way no human should growl. Mikey feels an odd crack in the man's mental signature, like a broken door. He knows.

He _knows._

"Oh, fuck," Mikey whispers.

Shredder leaps at him, roaring.

Several things happen.

The others pause and turn, gaping. They are swiftly struck by Foot soldiers, collapsing with small groans, and the soldiers continue with blades and wood and punches, and Donnie starts to yell in pain and Leo is gasping and Raph is howling. From one side of the roof, Master Splinter appears, yelling Saki's name. From the opposite side, Karai appears, yelling Shredder's name. From an elevator behind the fallen turtles, April and Casey appear.

Michelangelo readies his weapons. He is cold now, and he is afraid, but he is brave.

Like lightning, Shredder strikes out with his gauntlet, panting and sweating and swearing and shaking. Mikey can see the burn scars on his face. His eyes widen. And then there is a great pain in his chest, in his rib cage. Someone screams his name. He draws in a breath and chokes. The _pain,_ oh gods. He can't _breathe._ He glances down at his plastron. The blades from the gauntlet are stabbed through, the tips of two of the blades are stuck in his ribs, they could go deeper but the bones have stopped them, but the third, he can feel that third blade deep and free in his chest; blood is sluggishly bubbling up, dark like ink. Shredder's other arm lashes out and grabs him around the throat, and he is shoved against another box, the right side of his head slamming into a corner until he sees white burst behind his eyes. Again, his name is screamed. His left lung spasms and he struggles to keep breathing.

He slowly turns his head, his neck burning, to see the Shredder raise his leg and kick hard. Mikey realizes that Shredder's boot is pressing against his left shin, right below the knee. Pressure. Pressure, pressure, _pressure_ and suddenly there is a crack and a crunch and Mikey cannot help but howl in agony, and he feels the bone snap neatly. It vibrates upward, into his torso, the blades in his rib cage almost singing and his lung spasms again.

Voices are screaming, roaring, sobbing, but Shredder is still choking him and no one has the strength to stop it without risking death…

Mikey feels his airway closing, feels oxygen struggle to pump, feels everything speed up and slow down all at once. His telepathy surges wide open and he feels the shreds of Oroku Saki's mental voice, blaming him. He feels horror course through him; Loki. _Loki, what did you do? Why did you do that? He's dangerous, he's killing us!_ But there was no answer.

Blackness surrounds him. But he manages to lift his arms and _swing_ the chain, and the kusarigama somehow is wrapped around the Shredder's neck, and that hand around his neck falls away; and Mikey has no clue how and what he is doing but he _pulls_ and he _shifts_ and his right leg pivots and somehow takes all the weight, and then the blades _rip_ out of his chest in an eruption of white molten agony but he doesn't have time to scream, and then somehow he is _lifting_ Saki into the air with the kusarigama chain despite the violent agony, and somehow he is _throwing_ Shredder toward the very edge of the roof, and somehow he manages to resist being dragged, and he lets go of the chain. He releases his weapon. His precious kusarigama winds around the throat of the Shredder and stays and strikes his face like a final punch. Michelangelo's body responds, somehow shoving against Shredder's airborne body, and then Oroku Saki is _falling,_ he is falling off the roof. Michelangelo hears a cry of pure pain burst from his own throat, but the stabbing pain in his chest, _(the blood streaming down his plastron)_ the aching pain in his temple, _(blood coating the side of his face)_ the shuddering pain in his leg _(bones shifting and grinding),_ it is all becoming distant, and now he's falling and his knees scrape the ground hard as they hit and his left knee screams, and then he's falling onto his right side, _crash,_ his head striking the ground again and he can feel the blood splatter and drip anew down his face and he is trying to breathe as hard as he can and his heart is stuttering, his heart is racing and weak and he is straining to listen.

The scream of Oroku Saki hovers long after the sickening thud.

Finally, time sets itself. Movement is known. The echo of his own name is still vibrating.

He sees the pool of blood under his head. He sees the feet and robe of his sensei, father, dad, daddy. Splinter collapses and slides an arm under him, gently turning him onto his carapace. Mikey can see the stars now. So many stars!

"My son," Splinter is crying. Splinter is crying. Tears are streaming down his face, his fur. "My brave, joyous, whimsical child. My hero. Oh, child, I love you. I love you, my Michelangelo. Stay. Stay with me."

Mikey's heart is breaking even as it is racing to keep pumping.

Karai's face comes into view. He blinks. Had she been helping them fight? His sister. She has a large cloth that she is ripping into pieces. She presses the biggest piece against his plastron, and he hisses. Oh, that _hurts._ Her voice is firm and final while her face is drained of color. "Hello, Michelangelo." She shudders as she is staring at him, and then she inhales. "You will be all right. You saved us all. You saved everyone. We are going to get you home, and we are going to fix you back up," she says, with frightening determination. "I have medical skills. I was taught many things as Saki's daughter. I will stitch you up and set your leg and you are going to be _fine_. You will be _fine,_ Michelangelo." And the way she says it challenges the fates, the universe itself, daring to be defied or denied.

Splinter's voice sounds so shattered. "My daughter. Thank you."

Mikey breathes badly and coughs and he tastes blood. Oh, not again. It's filling his chest, but it's never been this bad. He looks at his father, whose chocolate gold eyes are wide and filled with horror. He manages a shaky smile. "It's...it's okay, Daddy. Everything…will be…okay." And he breathes again, blood splattering down his chin, and he _commands_ his heart muscle to keep going. And Splinter takes a shuddering breath and nuzzles the left side of his face, whispering, "My beloved shining one, my little one..." And Splinter is so scared, so frightened, and Mike has never ever seen his father-sensei so afraid.

Mikey is still wondering when and how and why Karai had decided to help them, when he realizes he has closed his eyes and he is starting to drift. He feels his sensei, his _daddy_ , always so strong, pull him up and cradle him. He feels Karai's cloth – _satin, it's satin and cotton_ – pressed so firm against his chest, feels the leaking blood soaking it. He mentally whispers to his strange little healing factor to clot the blood. He doesn't know if it answers. He feels Karai's small hands on his left leg, and suddenly there is a _yank_ and a crack and his scream is released as a whimper and a huff because his left lung is damaged, and he feels the leg bone settled against itself. He feels his telekinesis already flowing toward it slowly, like a funeral procession. Both his father and his sister hold him and soothe him. They hold him like a porcelain doll because he is dying, and he can't even reassure them.

Splinter lifts him in his arms. He feels like breaking. They're walking, almost running. Then he hears the groans and gasps and cries of his badly wounded brothers, April crying, Casey saying things. His brothers are calling his name, broken and terrified. He cannot open his eyes, he cannot answer them, he feels helpless. He is getting cold.

More movement. They are resting. They are in an elevator. He hears Donnie, and Donnie sounds so weak, Donnie is struggling. Karai snaps something at him, something about sitting back down and resting. His brothers are panting, whimpering, comforting each other. April is sniffling, her words punctuated by hiccuping sobs.

Running. They are running. His head is pillowed against his sensei's warm soft velvet shoulder, his blood is soaking into Splinter's robe. He is then slid gently onto a cold floor, wrapped in his father's arms, cuddled to his father's torso. An engine starts. Ah. The Party Wagon. He hears voices. Casey is driving. He feels Donnie's hand brush his arm and his leg. Mikey opens his mind and reaches for his brothers. Oh! They are so very weak. They are bruised, battered, fractured, barely conscious, covered in lacerations and abrasions. _Heal them,_ his mind insists. _Forget yourself, you must help your brothers!_ He feels the energy move sluggishly, and before he can pull back it is already pouring out from him and washing over them like a breeze.

Donnie's hand on his arm tightens and he sounds scared. "Guys. Do you feel that? Mikey's trying to heal us!"

"No, no…" and Leonardo sounds so exhausted. "He can't, he's too _hurt_ …"

"Make him _stop_ ," Raphael snarls. "He needs to focus on himself. We're fine. He's _dying!_ He doesn't have...he can't...Mikey, stop it! Listen to me! Mikey, don't!" And he is so panicked his breaths are short, and April murmurs something to him.

Mikey hears the words, he _wants_ to do what Raph says, but the energy won't listen, and he is weakening, weakening; his lungs are twitching, and his heart muscle shudders, fluttering, stuttering. He knows they'll be so mad at him if he dies from overexertion. His struggle to pull the energy back results in a familiar feeling, and before he can stop it the seizure rips through him, and his father and sister are holding him, and Donnie is crying out in pure agonized helplessness, and then he cannot hear or feel anything at all.

* * *

There is a heavy iron door behind him, there swirling and howling darkness beyond, and he is trying to keep it out, pushing the door closed, and darkness is pushing back, growling with the voice of an ancient unfeeling uncaring void. And he is yelling from the strain, exerting every bit of strength and power; and it feels like years, and he knows he cannot stop, because the darkness will devour him and destroy him, and once that happens it will spill out and find his family and tear them apart. And so he keeps pushing, pushing forever, until the door is almost closed. He gathers the strength he does not have and he shoves his whole body one last time, and the door catches the edge of a shadow right as it shuts and the bang echoes. He shakily slides the locks on it just in time. He presses his back to the door and limply slides down, facing the white place with the tree, exhausted and hurting and completely uncertain. He is all alone and everything is quiet. But the darkness is on the other side, waiting. He feels it, he feels how cold he is, how that door might be ripped open again because he is too weak, how the darkness could take him if he moves too far.  
All he knows is that he has to hold the door until the darkness retreats…however long that may be.

He sits and waits for a very long, long time.

* * *

Michelangelo slowly opens his eyes and recognizes everything. The nasal tubes resting on his face. The IV needles in both arms. The tubes in his sides. The brace on his leg. He can't move, his whole body feels limp and utterly brittle. He figures it's been at least a few weeks. He wonders if it was another coma. Inwardly he rolls his eyes and sighs. He's surprised he's not severely brain damaged. Then again, the M'Kari psionics probably already healed up most of that potential damage. He's lucky; he doesn't feel lucky. The edge of death isn't a lucky place.

He blinks a few times, feels the softness and weight of the infirmary bed and blankets. He inhales and tries to say something. It comes out as a scattered rasp.

There is loud movement. After a few seconds, Donatello comes into view and squeaks. "You're awake! Mikey, you're awake! Finally! Oh god, you have no idea…hang on, I need to get Dad and Karai…oh, Mikey, _Mikey_ , we…" There are tears in his eyes. He disappears from sight. Mikey blinks again and wonders how fun it was this time. Did he go into cardiac arrest? Lose brain function? Need surgery?

There are shouts and commotions. Suddenly he is surrounded on all sides, so many faces pinched with worry and fatigue and joy and fear and relief. And here is Karai. Karai just smirks and takes his head in her hands, turning this way and that, staring at him, staring and staring. "I guess you could call me Doctor Karai," she says. "I was the one who drained the blood from your left lung, fixed up the punctured part of the lung, wrapped up your leg, and stitched your head. Donnie kept protesting that he was supposed to do it. It was very funny, actually."

Mikey manages a tiny smile.

"You were comatose," she adds, as if knowing his questions. "You nearly died for good. Three cardiac arrests. You've been out for six months. I guess that is a record for you, eh?"

Well, fuck. No wonder. But his body does feel as though it's been worked out, so he knows he needs to thank Raph for the therapy.

Despite the IV and the gastro tube his mouth is dry, so he works on salivating. He thinks about pizza, and chocolate mousse pies.

And then _that question_ comes into his head. He should know the answer; they all heard the sound. But, well, cockroaches.

He meets Karai's stare directly and pushes the question through his eyes. She pulls back a little. She nods. "The Shredder is gone. Saki is dead."

He closes his eyes, opens them. Are they _sure?_

She smiles and sighs. "I saw his body. But I also saw them take him. So...I do not actually know for sure. There is a very advanced medical lab, and I have...seen things. I don't know if I want to know."

He blinks slowly at her. Indeed.

She winks. "I stole some very advanced medical equipment just for you."

Mikey smiles widely, as best he can.

"I…I have processed many feelings in the last six months," she says. "It was hard. He was my father for so long. He loved me, in his way. I was Shen's child. But, he lied. He tormented and destroyed so many people. Father...Splinter...we talked often. I don't know if I will truly get past being Saki's daughter." She inhales deeply. "But I live here now." And she grins. "Got your wish, sweet _otouto_. I am home."

The joy and thrill on his face makes them all laugh. He opens his mouth but all that comes out is a sigh. He reaches for his telepathy. _I love you guys. I love my family. This is so awesome. Now I'll need to read everyone's mind to catch up. Six months without Crognard and Space Heroes and new comics!_

Gaia comes forward, smiling, tears streaming down her face. "Easy enough, Sunshine. I got all the comics and I saved all the episodes."

She looks so beautiful. He wants to pull her to him and never let go. She responds by leaning down and pressing her mouth to his. "There will be plenty of time for all the things, sweetheart. Right now, let's concentrate on getting you back to proper Mikey status."

It will take a while. He knows he won't ever be the same. They all know it. _He killed the Shredder. Him. Mikey. Michelangelo. He's the one who did it. He cannot be the same.  
_

He manages to open and close his fists, curl his toes. He turns his head to see Raph staring down at him, smirking. "You know the routines, little bro. No matter what it takes. And we'll be here." Leonardo is next to him, smiling that wonderful, sweet Leo smile, his hand on Mikey's shoulder. "We adore you, Mikey. You're our heart and our light. And you'll be fine."

Michelangelo winks. _Damn right I will. I have you guys._

"And we have you," Leo grins.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Author's Note:
> 
> Welcome to the end of "Cold Fire Rising 2: Ouroboros". The story is not over. I will be writing a third story, specifically detailing the six months lost during Mikey's coma, since many things change in their lives and they form closer relationships. It shall involve sex, polyamory, and mature themes. It's gotten so long and complex that it needs its own separate document.  
> I will also be writing side stories, some in the CFR AU, some in brand new headcanons.  
> If you'd like to see certain details, please let me know.)


End file.
